


Inner Sparkling

by Need2Scream



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bootcamp never prepared Jazz for a sparkling, No pairings - Freeform, Ratchet might throttle Wheeljack, Sparkling Prowl, Transformer Sparklings, Wheeljack is just trying to help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Need2Scream/pseuds/Need2Scream
Summary: Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force, Logic, Precision; all summed up in one name: Prowl.But a little innocent tinkering on Wheeljack's part and now the Prime's indominable Second-In-Command is...a sparkling. But he doesn't quite look like Prowl and there's something not quite right about the mech claiming to be his Sire.Now Jazz, Red Alert, Ratchet, and Wheeljack are in a race against time to get their terse tactician back and unravel Prowl's enigmatic past while enemies, old and new, begin to amass.
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl, Prowl & Red Alert
Comments: 96
Kudos: 161





	1. Wheeljack, Why?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm re-editing and reposting my stuff from FF.net. I've been kind of stuck on my two WIPs so I'm hoping getting back into the headspace of writing these characters will shake everything loose.

Ratchet clamped another mainline as Prowl’s vitals continued to plummet. The Praxian SIC was still hemorrhaging somewhere, the energon transfusions spurting out as fast as they went in. “Hoist, patch,” Ratchet barked. Sparks ignited from incompatible wires brushing together in Prowl’s chest. Wrenching his mangled spark cover off and tossing the useless metal away Ratchet cursed with renewed fury. Energon drowned Prowl’s weakly pulsing spark, the mainline leading to the chamber torn open and gushing. His spark wasn’t strong enough to even singe the pool of energon. In a healthy, spark the Primus awful smell of burning energon would have already permeated the med bay. “Primus fraggit! Wheeljack, where the fragging pit is the fuser?” he snarled. He couldn’t clamp the mainline so close to Prowl’s spark, but the fuser would allow him to make a hasty patch until the line could be replaced.

“Right here,” the scientist said almost-not-quite pushing Ratchet out of the way. The medic didn’t have time to be fragged off about the shove, Devastator had come terribly close to literally ripping Prowl apart and he wasn’t sure he had the skill or luck needed to patch him back together. Unhelpful alarms rang in his HUD as Prowl’s vitals continued to drop, auxiliary systems were already offline and primaries were beginning to crash like dominos at spark wrenching rate. Ratchet’s energon coated hands stilled as he watched systems one after the other succumb to trauma. There was only so much a frame could take and only so many miracles a medic could perform.

Wheeljack hesitated with him, the fuser that could buy Prowl another breem of struggle or a few more vorns of life poised over the hemorrhaging spark casing. “That’s really close to his spark.” The bioluminescent lines on Wheeljacks head lit uncertain orange and the long line of fins that ran down the center of his head flared.

“Now, ‘Jack,” Ratchet snapped. Despite his frame’s unwillingness, Prowl’s spark was still fighting and Ratchet had never let anyone go without kicking, screaming, and cursing. The calm hum of the fuser offset the cacophony of alarms going off both in his HUD and the machines hooked up to Prowl’s mangled frame. It wasn’t until a dull white glow began creeping over Prowl’s frame that Wheeljack’s tone registered. The orange bioluminescence. The fin flare. Hoist kept his hands buried in Prowl’s internals even as the light crawled over the damaged wires and lines.

“’Jack, what the frag have you done now?” the assistant asked mildly. Ratchet turned on him with barely contained fury, cephalic fins flaring and optics purple. Wheeljack cringed back, his bioluminescent lines flashing bright white. Before Ratchet could launch himself at his oldest friend and slam his pit-fragging-glitched-genius-Primus-forsaken helm against the floor the alarms began to taper off.

The glow fully covered Prowl’s frame and began to brighten to a scintillating white until not even a shadow of Prowl’s frame could be seen. Ratchet’s optics attempted to compensate for the glow but it proved too bright. Turning his head away Ratchet listened for Prowl but the machines and alarms were almost all quiet now as vitals stabilized.

After half a breem, the glow began to subside and the alarms were quiet. Prowl was stable. His spark pulse a little fast but regular, his pressure a little lower than his normal parameters but given how many mainlines had been ruptured and torn it was a miracle it wasn’t still redlining. The three medics could finally look at the repair table and Ratchet almost smacked Wheeljack again for fragging up his optics.

Optics like pools of molten gold looked out from a tiny head, wings too large for his small frame tucked tight and fearful against his back, a sparkling sat in the pools of energon where Prowl had lay dying. There was no recognition in his golden optics, silver coolant tears shimmered on their surface until they overflowed. The sensors Ratchet still had calibrated to Prowl’s vitals began to beep again as the sparkling’s spark pulse began to accelerate. Terrified wide optics watched the three medics as soundless tears dripped off his chin to splash in the energon.

“Wheeljack,” Ratchet said softly. “What the frag have you done?”


	2. Rule Number One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said to myself: Let's just do some light edits, tighten up some sentences, fix some typos
> 
> *4,000 Words Later*
> 
> oh no

_Jazz, med bay. Now._ The comm snapped off after that short, charming message. Jazz didn’t bother lowering the volume of his music, as he rolled out of his recharge berth and hit the floor running. The whole fragging ship was waiting to hear about Prowl’s condition. Jazz had started—with many others—hovering outside the med bay doors, until First Aid’s gentle yet firm orders for them to return to their quarters dispersed them.

Their SIC had gotten torn up a few times, tangling with Starscream and his trine, but this time was different. Ratchet didn’t enjoy the small crowds that gathered outside the med bay, but he’d never sent them away before. The whole thing felt different and Jazz’s spark felt like it was going supernova in his chest.

He hadn’t been on the dropship that brought Prowl back, but he’d heard Ironhide’s strike team orders and Red Alert’s frantic cry for a medic just as Devastator’s massive form rose from ground. Red Alert had locked himself in his quarters as soon as he was shipside.

Jazz’s quarters were only two doors down from his and since First Aid hadn’t let anyone—not even the Prime—in while the more senior medics worked to keep Prowl alive, Jazz had gone back to his quarters where he could be close to Red Alert. Prowl was the reclusive mech’s closest friend and Jazz had no idea what Red Alert might do if news of the worst came through.

He would have to ask Ratchet if it was possible for a spark casing to actually squeeze a spark because it felt like his was four sizes too small as he sprinted through the halls full of open doors. They may have dispersed but the crew was still waiting for news and Jazz’s mad dash through the halls was definitely some kind of news.

More comms pinged him, no doubt getting updates from the ones that saw him running down the halls to med bay, but he muted them. If Prowl’s spark hadn’t almost gone out on the way back to the _Ark_ one or two mechs might have tried to stop him. As it was, the halls were almost deserted. The quietness added to the uncanniness of the orn and made his spark casing wrench that much tighter.

Bursting through the med bay doors without bothering with pleasantries he was prepared for the worst. He expected the worst. Had spent the joors telling himself to expect the worst because no mech lost that much energon and came out alive on the other side. And yet, when he made it to the surgery suite, he knew he wasn’t ready for the worst. Ratchet’s sharp cerulean blue optics met Jazz’s. “He’s alive,” was all he said. The fierce Ahnkmorish medic took one step to the side while Jazz slid to a stop just past the door.

He’d seen mechs turned inside out by mines, seen them blown apart like fine glass by artillery shells, seen the aftermath of Megatron’s torture. But his breath left him in an explosive gust like he’d been punched as both Ratchet’s words registered and he processed what he was seeing.

A sparkling.

Black wings streaked with white and gold like shooting stars, too big for his tiny frame, curled around his shoulders and hid most of him from view as he cried. Fearful gold optics turned to Jazz when he burst in and the quiet sound of his hiccupping intakes was the only sound. Not even after the hard run did Jazz’s fans kick on, his entire being shocked almost to the point of offlining.

“We can’t get close to him,” Ratchet said in a soft voice. “Not even First Aid. I was hoping he might recognize you but that doesn’t look like it’s going to work either.” A quiet whimper coupled with the hitch in the sparkling’s intakes made Jazz’s spark twist.

“Ratch…Ratch, what?” Jazz whispered, hot air finally vented in a loud _whoosh_. A sparkling. They had a sparkling in the med bay. A seekerling by the looks of his wings. “We got a—he’s a—sparkling?” He looked from Ratchet to Hoist to the sparkling and back to Ratchet. “How’d we…where’s Prowl?” He’d come in preparing to say a final farewell to his friend and now he was staring at a sparkling.

“That _is_ Prowl,” Ratchet said, gesturing to the softly crying sparkling. The medic turned a glare on the wall over his shoulder. “Wheeljack, the rust-gifted smelter rod, did _something_ to the fuser and—” he put a hand on his hip and rubbed his head with the other. “One orn, I’m going to kill him,” he muttered.

Jazz looked at the sparkling again. “That’s Prowl?” he asked. He’d never had any reason to doubt Ratchet, ever, but the sparkling sitting in front of him didn’t have even a passing resemblance to Prowl. Prowl’s frame, even without his armor, was made up of stark contrasts of silver and black, just like his wings. The mechling’s frame was a soft silver that brought out the gold highlights in his wings. And the optics peering at him from the protection of those wings were liquid gold, not Prowl’s glacial blue.

Hoist shrugged a shoulder. “Wheeljack.” Was all he said, but his optics were bright like his processor was being bombarded with input.

Ratchet made a low sound deep in his chest and his cephalic fins rose slowly. Out of habit and self-preservation, Jazz took a step back. Ratchet was watching the sparkling though. The sparkling watched him, fewer tears, but still fear in his optics. “Take my word for it, that he is Prowl and work from there, Jazz.” He said after a breem. “He can’t stay in the med bay all night and he works himself into an episode if any of us try to get close, so see what he does with you.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like med bays,” Jazz said softly, cautiously taking a few steps forward watching the sparkling. “Primus knows I hated ‘em when I was a sparkling.” He was still a few meters from the energon covered berth and sparkling. It looked like a scene out of a horror vid.

Pools and tracks of energon and internal fluids covered the floor, Ratchet’s tools still soaked in slowly drying fluids, and the sparkling sat in the middle of it. “Hey lil’ spark,” Jazz said softly. The sparkling whimpered louder when he took another step forward. Jazz held his hands out in front of him and whistled low and soft like his creators had done for him when he was frightened. The mechling blinked a few more tears loose but seemed to be watching Jazz with more curiosity than fear. “You don’t wanna be in the med bay anymore? Come on, spark, you can come with me. We’ll get you something to eat.” The sparkling’s gold optics flashed when Jazz took another step forward and the saboteur froze. “Prowl?” he whispered. He’d been doing what Ratchet asked of him, taking his word for it, but that quick flash of suspicion and assessment was a look he’d seen on Prowl’s face every orn he’d known the mech. “By fraggin’ _Primus_ , Prowler?”

The sparkling watched Jazz; tensed and no longer crying but definitely thinking through options of escape. Jazz couldn’t breathe again. Liquid gold optics met his, young and without recognition, but Jazz could see what those optics would look like on an older face. “Prowl?” he said again, his processor glitching on the idea that this very small frightened sparkling was somehow their powerhouse SIC.

“He’s gonna bolt,” Hoist said softly. But the med bay was shut up tight and Jazz began to reconsider why First Aid had sent them all away. How long had the medics been trying to gain Prowl’s trust?

Jazz didn’t advance anymore and kept his hands held up in an appeasing gesture. The sparkling shivered in the cold med bay. “I don’t think we’ve really introduced ourselves have we, lil’ mech,” Jazz said, trying to remember how he’d gotten adult Prowl to loosen up. It hadn’t been easy or quick. “I’m Jazz, I like to listen to my music too loud, remember?” He cued up a song he knew adult Prowl liked and made sure the volume wasn’t high enough to startle the already stressed sparkling.

Prowl cocked his head to the side, just like he did as an adult when he was considering a tricky maneuver. Jazz took a short step forward and Prowl’s optics narrowed. “C’mon, mechling, I know you gotta be tired and hungry,” Jazz crooned. “You got energon drying on your wings, that’s probably itchy, right?” He only knew enough about wings to disable them, but he did recall Bluestreak saying something about how uncomfortable dry energon was. Prowl considered him another breem but his wings flicked a little in the mess. “Let’s get you to a bath, lil’ mech and we’ll get your wings clean, that’ll feel better.” Jazz took another small step forward. Prowl didn’t flinch back. He didn’t look happy about Jazz getting closer, but whatever discomfort he was feeling was outweighing his suspicion.

Jazz was close enough he could touch Prowl and those golden optics locked on his. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Prowler,” Jazz said, extending one hand. Prowl’s optics narrowed to slits and a raspy hiss left him. Lightning quick, two lines of energon opened on Jazz’s arm and Prowl retreated out of reach.

Jazz blinked in surprise and examined the slashes. Not deep, they’d stop bleeding in a breem or two. But he’d never seen Prowl move so fast. Adult Prowl could take most everyone on the ship in sparring, but he wasn’t the fastest. He won by analyzing technique and patterns, which was one reason he liked sparring with Jazz and Red Alert who were more unpredictable. “You’re quick as a cybercat, Prowler,” Jazz said with a soft laugh. The sparkling didn’t share his amusement and flashed his tiny fangs.

“Prowl,” Ratchet said softly, gaining the mechling’s angry attention. “Jazz is leaving the med bay.” He pointed at the door Jazz had come through. “You don’t want to be here, do you?” Prowl looked from Jazz to Ratchet and then around the room. His wings pulled tighter to his frame. Ratchet continued, “Go with Jazz and he’ll get you cleaned up and something to eat. I know you’re hungry mechling. You’ll feel better after a bath and food, but to get that you need to go with Jazz.” Prowl turned his sharp assessing gaze on Ratchet and Jazz found it hard to breathe again. That was Prowl through and through. Quiet breems ticked by, Jazz turned off the song that Prowl either didn’t remember or refused to be appeased by. It was almost funny, this tiny sparkling somehow holding three adults at bay with nothing but his angry glare.

Prowl passed another quick look around the med bay again and his glare turned fearful. Adult Prowl didn’t seem to mind med bays anymore than the next mech. Jazz developed a dislike for them because even as a Polyhexian his optics were more sensitive to lights than most and med bays across the board had bright lights. He couldn’t figure out what about the bay was scaring the sparkling. Prowl looked at him again and slowly left his defensive crouch to crawl to the edge of the berth. Having learned his lesson, Jazz kept still. Now that he was starting to think past his shock, one of the first things he’d learned about Adult Prowl was that he did _not_ like unsolicited touching. If Prowl’s glare could have severed limbs, Jazz would have lost his entire arm the first time he put a hand on Prowl’s shoulder. And it looked like sparkling Prowl was willing to use more literal means of enforcing his boundaries.

Looking at the no longer bleeding slashes on his forearm, Jazz said, “Lesson One: No Touching, right?” He gave the sparkling a half smile. Prowl watched him closely for another second before quick as a blink he hopped off the table and onto the floor. Jazz’s acute audios picked up Hoist’s sharp intake but Prowl landed lightly on his feet, uninjured. Prowl didn’t pull himself up to the stiff attention he usually held himself at, but instead stayed quadrupedal. His too big wings folded close to his back, the tips of his primaries still just brushing the floor so he probably couldn’t stand bipedal without them dragging. His sharp claws clicked softly on the tiles for a few steps until he retracted them and even that tiny sound was gone. With his mostly dark coloring he was a shadow in the shadows, those bright gold optics the only give away.

“Wheeljack and Perceptor are working on a low grade mixture for him,” Ratchet said softly, watching the mechling slink under berths, moving steadily for the door. “It should be ready soon, I’ll have one of them drop it off at your quarters.”

Jazz nodded slightly, also keeping his optics on the mechling. “I don’t know a damn thing about sparklings, Ratch,” he said matching Ratchet’s soft tone. Ratchet’s coding had to be in overdrive right now but the medic was old and experienced enough to have a stranglehold on it. Hoist looked like he was one probable injury away from glitching out, his optics washed ice blue instead of their usual ocean navy.

“This is far from ideal,” Ratchet said, the usual snap back in his quiet voice, “Don’t submerge his wings in the bath, they’re not hydrophobic, they’ll suck up moisture like a sponge and get heavy enough to drown him if the water’s too deep. Shallow bath, so even quadrupedal his intakes are clear of the water.” Jazz filed everything Ratchet said and also began destroying his search algorithms by looking up sparkling care.

“There’s about as many books and articles on sparkling care as there are stars, Ratch, how do I narrow this.” Some of them even had conflicting information. The network was such a pit-fragging mess. Any glitch with a connection could upload something to it and there was someone else out there who would swear by it and suddenly it was considered legitimate.

“Seekerlings,” Ratchet said decisively. “It says in Prowl’s file that both his creators were Praxian, but those wings and the way they’re growing faster than his frame are seeker characteristics. He’s got the heavier struts of a Praxian, though, or he would’ve fractured something with that jump off the berth.”

“It doesn’t seem like he’ll let you, but you can’t pick him up like an unwinged sparkling,” Hoist said, wringing his hands while his optics stayed locked on Prowl, now examining the securely closed and locked door. “If he ever gets to that point, we’ll have to show you how to lift him so you don’t damage the wing joints in his back.”

Jazz looked at his arm again and Ratchet snorted. Gold optics glared back at the adults and then at the still closed door. Jazz flicked his cephalic fins a couple of times. “Primus, what an orn. All right, Prowler, we’re going, but you gotta stay with me, lil’ mech. Lots of big feet on this ship and not all of ‘em graceful.” Jazz started walking toward the door and then started and turned back to Ratchet. “Does he speak Iax?”

The two medics stared at him in silence.

Hoist covered his face and Ratchet slowly closed his optics. “I didn’t think about it.”

Jazz tilted his head back and let out a stress-induced laugh. Venting another gust of hot air he said. “I know some Kotoba, but I’ve heard Prowl speak his dialect and they’re nothing alike.”

Ratchet crossed his arms and stared at the floor. “I have his regional dialect as Nosukyan.” The medic rubbed his optics with an exhausted sigh that went deeper than a long battle and a long orn. “And it’s currently listed as an extinct language. Prowl is likely one of the last to still speak it.”

Jazz spark twisted hard. The Fall of Praxus had cut so many lives short, the casualty list alone was enough to make any sane mech ill, but there were so many other ways Praxians were still suffering. Prowl didn’t speak his native language often, which Jazz had never questioned. He didn’t speak his native Teanga since all mechs aboard _The Ark_ spoke Iax. There wasn’t really a need unless he was catching up with another Poly who also spoke Teanga. But Jazz _had_ heard Prowl speak Nosukyan on occasion, never to him, but in the quiet joors in the rec room or the dispensary he and—“Red Alert,” Jazz said suddenly. “I’ve heard Prowl speaking Nosuykyan to Red Alert.”

Ratchet’s optics brightened and unfocused for half a second before the scowl returned. “He’s shut down all of his communication lines.” Ratchet nodded to Prowl, now hiding under a berth watching them suspiciously since the door still hadn’t opened. “Get him cleaned up and fed, Hoist and I will drag Red Alert out. A purpose will do the mech some good.”

Moving through the halls with his camouflage activated was an…unsettling feeling. But, as Ratchet pointed out, anyone who saw him was going to ask questions and Prowl was already stressed out enough. A bunch of strange adult mechs towering over him wasn’t going to make him feel safe or comfortable. So he and Prowl—keeping a healthy distance between them—were taking a more roundabout way to Jazz’s quarters. Red was going to throttle him for hacking into the security feed, but he needed to know where mechs were. Most were still waiting for news from med bay, but the ship still had to run and mechs were moving about the ship on their daily duties. They’d had two fairly close calls already, but Prowl was just as keen on staying away from mechs as Jazz was and both times had found a shadow to hide in before Jazz could tell him to move.

“You’re a natural spy, Prowler,” he whispered as they made it to the quiet hall where officer quarters were located. Prowl narrowed his optics when he saw Ratchet and Hoist in front of Red Alert’s door. “By the time we get you outta the bath we’ll have some food for you and hopefully a translator,” Jazz said, deactivating the camouflage and keying into his own quarters while Ratchet hissed at Red Alert’s door. Prowl stood in the hallway an extra second, head cocked to the side as he watched the medic and then he slowly walked into Jazz’s dark quarters.

Prowl stuck close to the wall while Jazz tried to remember where the light switch was. Jazz’s quarters were his safe place, his sanctuary, from his function and an oasis from the strident lights the majority of the ship preferred during the daylight hours. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the lights on even on a dim setting.

He found the switch and turned the lights up to a mid-range setting and Prowl froze for a second before resuming his inspection. Walls painted blue so deep it was almost black seemed to absorb the lines of the sparse equally dark furniture. His surround sound speakers were invisible in the dark corners. His berth had a few blankets on it, but it was used most often as a couch, he never recharged in the thing. Stepping around the sparkling, he went to the washrack and had to find the switch in there, too. The washrack were about the size of a closet, but the perfect size for a smaller than average Poly to recharge as he preferred, in water up to his chin. The bath had small step up to it and wasn’t very deep to begin with. There was no way big mechs like Ironhide or the Prime could be comfortable sitting in it.

He started the water, keeping in mind what Ratchet had said about the depth, and tried to find a good substitute for sparkling wash that he could use. His exoform dried out easily, so he didn’t think it would be too hard. He shucked off most of his heavy armor while he searched to be more comfortable.

“Is there absolutely nothing in this glitched universe we can agree on,” Jazz said out loud. Soap, no soap, only certain kinds of soap; there was no rhyme or reason to it and no one with compelling evidence to support their claims. Prowl, hearing the water, slunk into the washrack and looked up at him when he spoke. He made a small chirp—the first sound he’d made—and stretched his wings a little, streaks of dry energon flaking off. Hopping up on the first step while Jazz turned the water off. He watched the ripples for a moment and without warning jumped straight in. Jazz’s spark almost shot out of his chest as he lunged to catch him but missed.

Prowl landed with a splash and chirped again, sitting back on his haunches and swishing his wings through the water and splashing around with his hands. The suspicion and fear that had made him seem centicycles older were gone. Jazz was looking at a very happy sparkling splashing around in the water like a sparked Poly. His spark slowed and he laughed softly, sitting on the step next to the tub. Prowl lifted his wings out of the water and shook himself from head to toe, flapping his wings hard and showering the small washrack with water. “I didn’t think winged mechs liked water all that much,” Jazz said keeping his voice soft and conversational. Prowl glanced at him when he spoke but there was no recognition or comprehension in his bright optics. Dunking his wings again, he splashed and flapped like a bird in a birdbath. The happy chirrups and squeaks he made as his wings came clean made Jazz laugh again. “I’ll have to ask Ratchet if there isn’t some Poly mixed in there, too, Prowler.”

After Prowl splashed most of the water out of the tub he looked more relaxed and twice as tired. Jazz pulled the plug and Prowl hopped out without any assistance, still flapping his wings every few seconds to get the water off. Jazz grabbed his towel and debated on whether or not Prowl would let him dry him off. Adult Prowl wouldn’t. Jazz set the towel down next to the sparkling and Prowl grabbed a corner to stretch it out on the floor and then flopped down and rolled himself up like a wrap. Prowl giggled while he was wrapped up, only his tiny brushed gold cephalic fins visible. Jazz had to laugh with him when he unrolled himself. Prowl had no business being so cute. Shaking himself out again, less water came off his wings and he repeated the wrap trick.

Jazz smiled to himself as Prowl relaxed and started acting like a sparkling and not a tiny adult. “You wanna listen to some more music?” he asked, when it looked like Prowl was done drying his wings. Prowl stretched his wings wide showing off the pretty streaks of gold and white. Jazz found some softer songs and made sure the volume was down so he wouldn’t injure the sparkling’s audios. Ratchet would disassemble him if that happened. Prowl paused when he heard the music but once he realized it was a song and not a new adult in the room he left the washrack with more confidence than he’d had when he entered.

Jazz checked his chronometer and sent a questioning ping to Wheeljack and Perceptor about the low grade at the same time there was a soft knock on the door. Prowl was gone in a sparkbeat and Jazz let him be. He’d come out when the disturbance was gone.

His powerful scanners picked up Percy’s spark signature on the other side before he opened the door. “Hey Percy, nice timing,” he said easily. He realized as soon as he saw the scientist he didn’t know how much Perceptor knew about the situation. He sent another message to Wheeljack asking that question.

Perceptor smiled and held out a canister. “I apologize it took so long, the parameters Ratchet had us working within posed more of a challenge than either of us realized,” he said softly. Jazz took the canister but didn’t ask the scientist in as he usually would, very aware of the skittish sparkling hiding somewhere in the room behind him. “No worries, just finished getting cleaned up.” Wheeljack still hadn’t answered him, so he kept his answers vague. And from the amount of splashing Prowl had done, his exoform was still wet.

“I hope you feel better soon, Jazz,” Perceptor said with a small dip of his head. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Thanks again, Percy,” Jazz said, stepping back. Once the door was closed Wheeljack finally responded. _I don’t know, Ratchet talked to him._ Rolling his optics he called softly for Prowl. From the dark blankets of his berth two gold orbs appeared. “You hungry, spark,” he asked, holding up the canister. “Shoku?” he added hopefully. Maybe they’d get lucky and Prowl would know some of the important Kotoba words, like Food or Friend. The sparkling tilted his head a little at the word and his brow furrowed but there remained no comprehension.

Jazz undid the lid and used it as a small cup to pour a tiny amount of low grade into it. “Shoku,” he repeated holding the lid out to the sparkling. Prowl sniffed and his optics brightened with interest. Crawling out of the hidey hole of blankets he’d made he reached hesitantly for the cap. Once he had it in his hands he sniffed again and took a small sip. His nasal ridge wrinkled and Jazz held back a laugh. No one enjoyed the Grades, but it kept longer and didn’t take as much room to store as real food, so it became an acquired taste. Prowl didn’t look like he wanted to acquire the taste, but hungry tanks rarely cared what food tasted like, as long as it was food. He finished the capful and Jazz grabbed a larger glass from the side table, glad he was more fastidious about cleaning than most mechs believed. Prowl took the glass and sipped the low grade, still making a face. “I know, mechling, but it is what it is. It’ll fill your tanks.”

Prowl finished the canister while Jazz continued the long and frustrating process of trying to find something useful about seekerlings on the Network. Blaster would have figured it out joors ago. Heaving a deep sigh he glanced at Prowl who looked like he was a breem away from dropping into recharge. “Busy orn for all of us, right, mechling,” Jazz murmured. Jazz took the glass from him and set it aside to wash later.

_Jazz, I’ve got Red Alert, how is Prowl?_ Ratchet asked. Jazz turned up the power on his scanners and found the faint pulse of Ratchet’s spark signature as well as the usual interference he got when the medic was near. Ratchet’s baseline scanners were enough to put even his most advanced hardware to shame. The medics could probably sense his and Prowl’s spark signatures and vitals from the other side of the door clear as a dark night to a Poly.

When he was younger—and dumber—he’d asked Ratchet how to get medical grade hardware and the medic had put the fear of Primus in him for even considering such a thing. There was a reason medical apprenticeship was so long and extensive. First Aid wouldn’t have full access to his hardware until he graduated and even then he’d still be with Ratchet as a secondary medic, like Hoist. The sheer amount of data even their passive scanners loaded their processors with was enough to drive a mech insane if they didn’t have the slow acclimation process that apprenticeship gave them. The last upgrade Jazz had gone through had put him out of commission for almost two septorns while his processor adjusted to the amount of input he was getting.

Ratchet had told him—in no uncertain terms—if he tried to get another upgrade within the decacycle he’d be scrapped. _Looks like he’s about a sparkbeat away from recharge._ Jazz answered, catching himself just before he reached out to stroke Prowl’s head.

Rule Number One: No Touching.

_Is he still as stressed as he was in the med bay?_

_Negative. But he bolted when Percy knocked._

The line was quiet for a few seconds and then Ratchet came back with an audio file with Red Alert’s soft voice speaking an unfamiliar language. Jazz could probably mimic the words with some practice but went with the easier option and played the file out loud. Prowl jumped and blinked at Jazz in surprise. Cocking his head to the side like a bird he said something in the same unique language that Jazz didn’t have a hope of translating. He wasn’t the head of XOps for nothing though, and was ready to record the answer. He sent it to Red Alert and Ratchet.

A second later the door slid open, even though Jazz knew they were there his twitchy battle protocols almost cycled up before he cancelled the order.

“You are to announce your intent before you use that code,” Red Alert said, scowling at Ratchet.

“Jazz, I’m opening the door,” Ratchet deadpanned, Hoist caught a snicker in his throat.

“Medical override codes are not for your convenience,” Red Alert grumbled but turned his attention to Jazz.

Prowl hopped off the berth and padded to the door, wings up and flared with curiosity but kept the walls and shadows. “I guess that means you’re interested in company now,” Jazz said, getting up and taking the direct route to the door.

Red Alert was hesitant stepping in but found Prowl in the shadows he was hiding without error. His scanners were close to Jazz’s level, being in security his entire adult life, he’d been given exemptions on the caps they’d put on civilians in the pre-war orns. The military on both sides had snapped up mechs and femmes like him first and fast.

Ratchet and Hoist stayed in the hall, flanking the door. Hoist looked calmer. Ratchet looked like Ratchet.

Red Alert blinked, his optics brightening in surprise. “Prowl?” he said softly. The mechling’s fledgling curiosity left him and wary suspicion took over once more. Red Alert kept his distance but slowly went to one knee. He spoke softly to Prowl in the unfamiliar language, Jazz assumed to be Nosukyan. Prowl’s wings flared with surprise but the suspicion left him and he trotted right up to Red Alert without fear. Jazz tried not to pout.

_He’s still Prowl, Red, he doesn’t like to be touched._ Jazz cautioned when he saw the other mech lift a hand. Red Alert canted his head but didn’t answer and gently stroked the back of Prowl’s head. The sparkling made a soft sound and pressed close to Red Alert’s leg and folded his wings around him like he had when he was in the med bay. He looked like he was ready for recharge again and not scared out of his processor, so that had to be a step in the right direction. Red Alert put an arm under Prowl’s knees and one hand between his wings and lifted him up to settle on his hip. Prowl uncurled enough he could dig his tiny claws into the grooves of Red Alert’s armor. Red Alert continued speaking softly, sometimes haltingly, in Nosukyan and Prowl’s optics closed more and more frequently.

Prowl was in recharge before Ratchet and Hoist finally entered the room. Ratchet’s optics flashed as he ran a scan of the sparkling. Hoist didn’t, which was a little odd, but as far as Jazz knew, Hoist and First Aid didn’t have much—if any—experience with sparklings so maybe this was another lesson for the secondary medic.

“I been sittin’ with him for _three_ joors and was lucky he didn’t bite my finger when I gave him food, but you walk in and pick ‘im up in two breems. Not fair, mech. Not. Fair,” Jazz whispered.

Red Alert gave him a small smile and held Prowl a little closer. “It’s not that Prowl dislikes being touched, Jazz,” he said softly. “He doesn’t like to be touched without permission. You didn’t know how to ask.”

“Any way you can teach me how to ask while he’s napping?” Jazz asked sincerely. They were all at a massive disadvantage in not being able to talk to Prowl or understand him in turn. It wasn’t safe, what if Prowl had been hurting somewhere? They’d have no way of knowing. Well, he wouldn’t. Ratchet was probably running some kind of scan on the mechling every two seconds. Still, he didn’t like not being able to talk to Prowl.

Red Alert nodded and his optics unfocused for a second while he accessed something. “I’ve been helping Prowl refine it, but he has been working on a language pack for Nosukyan.”

He received the transmission from Red Alert but didn’t immediately open it. “You’re helping him code a language pack?” he asked in surprise. Red Alert and Prowl were both smart mechs, but language packs were a whole other beast, he wasn’t sure even Blaster would tackle the coding involved with them.

Red Alert huffed a soft laugh. “It has been an extreme challenge, but learning new languages is my hobby so I’m familiar with the coding structure and I’ve been building complex security codes for centicycles. We’re figuring it out.”

Jazz opened the language pack and let out a low whistle. Jazz had a fair number of language packs for his job as well, but the bare basics of the language he was looking at now was one of the most complex. “An’ I thought Vox was the hardest language on Cybertron.”

“This is amazing,” Hoist said, optics bright, but only from interest and not his code running out of control. “How long have you been working on it?”

Red Alert absently stroked between Prowl’s wings while he thought. “At least a centicycle. Figuring out how to code the soundhouses for non-Praxians took a great deal of time. Now that that’s been mostly smoothed out it’s coming along much easier.”

“First Aid can probably help with those,” Hoist said. “He’s taking a class on it, something about vocal resonances in different frametypes?” He glanced at Ratchet and the medic nodded. Red Alert looked interested in that. Hoist gave himself a little shake, “But, we can talk later, once we get Prowl back to the age he’s supposed to be.” Again, he looked at Ratchet for confirmation. Jazz tilted his head a little as he watched the secondary medic. Hoist was only a few decacycles away from running his own bay. First Aid was the one who most often confirmed diagnoses and action with Ratchet. But sparklings were a new thing for him. Hoist was probably in the same pond.

“He can stay with me tonight while the rest of you sort out the language, it will take some studying,” Red Alert said softly. Jazz wanted to argue with that but caught himself because he didn’t know anything about sparklings but Red Alert apparently knew something. Jazz realized neither Ratchet nor Hoist had glitched when Red Alert picked Prowl up and he hadn’t picked him up like Jazz would’ve thought to pick the spark up. Prowl would be safe with Red Alert. It was _Red Alert_ for Pit’s sake. Nothing was getting into that room and, having more lead time on learning about Prowl, he’d probably been with Ratchet and Hoist sparkling proofing his quarters. Jazz realized, belatedly, he hadn’t thought to check the floor for stray knives or blaster packs or any other dangerous thing he used for his job. He bit back a wince. The sparkling was definitely safer with Red Alert.

Hoist looked like he was more than happy to take up the language challenge, Ratchet was probably picking it apart piece by piece and putting it back together, and Jazz had set aside his fruitless search for seekerling care to integrate the language.

“Perceptor will have more low grade mixed up in a few joors. I asked him to bring it to the med bay. I’ll drop it off before first shift,” Ratchet said. Red Alert nodded and rested his cheek against Prowl’s for a second before he straightened and his optics pulsed, scanners checking the hall out of habit before he walked out. Ratchet sent Hoist out with orders for him to also get some recharge. The young medic nodded and rubbed his optics.

“He okay?” Jazz asked as Ratchet turned to leave. “He felt a little off.” Not that he didn’t trust Ratchet to know when his medics weren’t being themselves, but he couldn’t let Hoist leave and go to his quarters without knowing for sure the mech was safe and all right.

“I had to firewall some of his code so it wouldn’t overwhelm him,” Ratchet said. “The medical coding regarding sparklings can be…overbearing. He’s never had to deal with it acting up like that, so it’s a good lesson, but his processor needs time to adjust.” The medic headed out, probably back to the med bay and not his berth where he should be, and Jazz let out a long breath as he shut the door.

“What a fraggin’ orn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun reworking this so I hope you guys are having fun reading it. Thank you for the comments and kudos!


	3. Takara

Early the following morning, Jazz’s restless recharge was interrupted by a notification for an emergency meeting. Jazz pulled the plug on his bath and shook himself from head to toe, flicking his cephalic fins and even the thicker ridged fins running down his back. Nightmares were about as common as breathing for him at this point, but the unsettling dreams of sparkling Prowl falling into the flames as Praxus burned around him didn’t feel like they’d let him go any time soon.

Snapping his armor on he checked his chronometer and thought about stopping by Red’s quarters to make sure Prowl was doing all right. But the meeting was likely about what had happened to Prowl so he’d get an update on the sparkling. It wasn’t the same thing. Shaking himself again, he left his room and didn’t go to Red’s quarters. The mech might not have to be at the meeting since he had Prowl with him. No one was going to wake up a sparkling this early in the morning and the security director wouldn’t leave Prowl alone. Prowl was safe.

Flexing his clawed toes, he decided a jog would do his body some good. As another bonus, he’d make it to the meeting on time. Kicking himself into a light jog only a little faster than a walk to loosen the kinks his tense recharge had left him with he tried to blank his mind. There weren’t many mechs in the halls as early as it was, still half a joor from first shift. 

Jogging did loosen up some of his joints, but the panicked attention it drew wasn’t worth it. After calming the first shift mechs and femmes in the rec room who saw him, he slipped into the meeting at his usual time. Fragging late. 

“It could be a few orns before this mess is sorted,” Ratchet said, not sparing a glance at Jazz. Not even Ironhide could be bothered to give him his usual glare, the ancient black mech’s optics locked on the small sparkling curled against Red Alert’s chest. Jazz paused in surprise until Prowl looked over Red Alert’s shoulder at him. Jazz slid into the open seat next to Red Alert. Prowl wasn’t half as combative as he had been the orn before. So either the mechling had been joors late for a nap or Red Alert had done _a lot_ of explaining. The sparkling made a soft chirruping sound that Jazz’s translator program finally had an answer for. Flashing the mechling a smile he whispered good morning. Prowl’s wings flared in surprise and Jazz held back a laugh when the sparkling looked from Red Alert to Jazz and across the table to Ratchet still updating the Prime on the situation. He made a small squeaking noise that either didn’t have a translation or wasn’t included in the language pack.

Jazz rubbed his optics, feigning his trademark I-Just-Woke-Up-Why-Am-I-Here look. It was too early for Prowl to be that cute. Too fragging early.

“That’s Prowl?” Blaster said from next to Ratchet, completely out of the current conversation. Red Alert’s optics dimmed in a scowl Blaster and Jazz were most familiar with. And as usual, Blaster either ignored it or missed it. “He doesn’t look—”

“I know,” Ratchet snapped. Ratchet drummed his fingers on the table, his non-retractable blunt claws clicking sharply against the metal surface. “Prowl’s adult records are in my database, but everything from his sparkling vorns is beyond my reach. Prowl disclosed all relevant medical information when he enlisted but any allergies or medical conditions that might have led to the dramatic frame modifications he’s gone through are all locked down in a civilian medical database that I can’t access.”

Blaster cocked his head to the side, looking quite a bit like Rewind. “Do you need ‘em? I mean…Prowl is Prowl, right? We just gotta learn how to talk to him.” He turned a slightly put out look on Red Alert. “I can’t believe you two were building a language pack and didn’t even _ask_ if I wanted to help.”

“We assumed music was your preferred way of communication,” Red Alert said.

“Yes, it matters,” Ratchet said, ignoring their conversation. “Frame modifications like Prowl went through are not done lightly. There are degenerative diseases and chronic illnesses that might have required strut replacement, a weakened spark matrix might have required the wing docking. Unless we want to keep him locked up in the med bay attached to sensors until Wheeljack figures out how to undo this, I _need_ those records.”

The Prime’s slightly bewildered optics stayed on Prowl—vainly trying to hide from all the mechs staring at him—while one optic ridge rose a fraction in a Well-Then-Do-It expression. Ratchet’s optics, in turn, narrowed. Had they been red, he would have borne a striking resemblance to Megatron. “If I could have, I would have. They are in a civilian database and my military rank will do nothing to unlock those, _Enforcer_ Prime.”

The Prime ducked his head a little and finally looked away from Prowl at one of his oldest friends. Any other situation, Jazz would have been laughing until he overheated, but Prowl was visibly uncomfortable with all the attention and it was making Jazz cranky. Prowl had been through enough in the last two orns and Adult Prowl didn’t like attention at all, why the pit did everyone think they could stare at him like one of Perceptor’s specimens.

“How’s the CMO not have access to a soldier’s medical files?” Blaster asked, catching up to the current conversation.

Ratchet was shaking his head before Blaster finished his question. “I have every file on him from his first enlistment diagnostic to his last, but nothing from before that. Not one byte from his life as a civilian is available.”

Optimus’ optics glittered for a few seconds and then they flashed white once before he blinked them back to their usual dark blue. “I can’t access them either,” he said, surprised. That surprised Jazz, too. Prime had been an enforcer in good standing when the war really kicked off and he was thrust to the helm of this mess. Enforcers could get into more trouble than medics as far as accessibility to records went. Optimus’ optics brightened a second before darkening once more. “An access request has been sent to whoever holds the files.” His optic ridges lowered and he steepled his fingers under his chin. “Have you ever come across this before, Ratchet?”

“Personally, no.” Ratchet’s fingers continued drumming on the table. “I had colleagues who worked more with high class. On occasion a politician would ask that their non-adult files be locked down if they had some kind of embarrassing injury or a speech glitch.”

“Seems awful frivolous for Prowl,” Ironhide rumbled. The two did not often see optic to optic, but Ironhide and Prowl did share an affinity for minimalism, directness, and little patience for frippery.

Ratchet shrugged a shoulder. “For Prowl, yes. For a creator with high expectations, perhaps not.” 

“Primus, you think the message went to Prowl?” Blaster asked with an odd mixture of dread and laughter. All but Optimus looked at the sparkling who pressed even closer to Red Alert’s armor and flashed his tiny teeth, cephalic fins bristling. Red Alert lifted his arm to shield more of the sparkling from their attention. Jazz mirrored Prowl’s glare. Prowl ducked more under Red Alert’s heavy forearm, hiding from the prying optics.

“I tracked part of the message route, it’s not going to Prowl,” Optimus said. His frown deepened. “If it goes to his creator or sire we could still have a problem. I don’t know if either survived the Fall of Praxus. If they’re not alive to give clearance is there another way to get into the files?”

Ratchet cycled a long intake. “I don’t know, I’d have to contact Hornet, he worked the most with those self-centered glitches.”

“Until we either get a living response or a notification of death, we need to decide what to tell the crew.” Red Alert’s voice was soft but the words quick and clipped. Prowl lifted his head long enough to verify he was still being stared at and then hid again. Jazz flicked his cephalic fins, his needle-sharp claws scratching the tabletop when he drummed his fingers. There was _no_ reason for everyone to be so glitching curious about the sparkling. Sure, they were rare, but the staring was fragging extreme.

Blaster threw his hands up and leaned back in his chair. “Wheeljack. Done. That’s all we need to say. They’ll get it.” Wheeljack cringed.

Red Alert’s ice blue optics chilled. “No.” The word was flat, hard, and silenced the room like a gunshot. All optics moved away from Prowl the usually glitchy security officer. “They cannot know this is Prowl.” Jazz’s processor took half a second to wonder if anyone had considered what having a sparkling might do to Red’s glitch. “Prowl is helpless and vulnerable in every way. He has no weapons, no self-defense training.” The slashes on Jazz’s arm disagreed, but he agreed with the sentiment Red Alert was getting at. “There’s no way he could outrun something. Unless we can absolutely verify that _every_ communication link from public to private is secure, we cannot tell the crew.” He glanced at Blaster, the communication officer laughed once without humor and shook his head.

Red Alert’s fingers gently stroked over Prowl’s arm while he spoke. “The Decepticons hack our frequencies as often as we hack theirs, hence the reason we don’t hold these meetings via comms If you think for even a moment the crew won’t be talking about this for the next septorn, either placing bets for how long it takes to get fixed or how many times Ratchet will have to put Wheeljack back together, you’re glitched. It will take the Decepticons half as long to send someone over to find out just what exactly is going on here.” Red Alert’s voice stayed calm and measured and so utterly unlike Red Alert Jazz wondered if he wasn’t still recharging.

And then Red Alert said, “It would be the work of a few seconds for Ravage to tear him apart. Prowl’s exoform cannot protect him from any extreme temperatures. If Rumble or Frenzy gets onboard all they need to do is lock him in cold storage and he’ll be dead before any of us think to look there.” Condensation prickled on Jazz’s spinal relay. His spark accelerated and his claws scratched deeper lines into the table.

Ratchet’s optics flickered to him in surprise. “Jazz?”

Jazz was ready to tear something apart, anything that might even remotely threaten the sparkling. No one was hurting the sparkling. The thought would not even cross their glitched processors he would turn them inside out.

Red Alert’s optics started to wash out as he listed off the dangers of the ship. “If he gets into a bath with too much water he could drown. He’s a Praxian, he’s going to climb things, if he falls off something he could break a wing. If he gets into the mid-grade it could damage his developing systems. The labs, the firing range, the sparring rooms, med bay, hangar.”

“Jazz.” Ratchet’s voice was lightyears away. This ship was so dangerous. They couldn’t keep a sparkling here. It was insane. It was _dangerous_. They were keeping a sparkling in danger.

“The _Ark_ is inherently dangerous to him and that is with every mech and femme on board compliant in keeping him safe.” Red Alert snapped. “A full grown Decepticon could inadvertently kill him trying to maim one of us. We cannot tell the crew. _No one_ can know how vulnerable your second-in-command is right now, Prime.”

In the silence that followed Red Alert’s tirade, one by one, every set of optics panned to Jazz’s shaking frame, his battle protocols were halfway cycled up.

“Jazzy?” Blaster asked with no shortage of concern.

Jazz couldn’t focus on him. The sparkling was in danger. They had just heard a whole list of dangers the ship and crew itself posed to the sparkling and they couldn’t take the sparkling offship because he’d be even more vulnerable to the Decepticons that would kill him. He couldn’t breathe. The sparkling was in danger.

“Jazz,” Ratchet spoke Teanga. “Jazz, deep breath. The sparkling is fine. Prowl is fine. He is right next to you, ready for another nap. He’s safe.” The quiet voice began to seep through the redline panicky fury in his processor. The sparkling was fine. He was right there with Red Alert and he did look like he needed a nap. Red Alert and the sparkling were watching him. The sparkling probably needed to eat. The sparkling was fine. The hot air began to vent from his chest in short, staggered gusts. The soft voice continued reassuring him the sparkling was fine and safe and it became easier to breathe.

A loud _BANG_ scared the sparkling so much he yelped. Red Alert’s head snapped down, bringing his sharp horns to bear. Jazz snarled, flashing his short, shell-cracking fangs and slicking all his fins flat to his frame. Even another Poly’s sharp claws would have a hard time finding purchase on him. The sparkling was afraid, hiding. No one scared the sparkling, no one hurt the sparkling, no one _looked_ at the sparkling the wrong fragging way or they’d have him to contend with. He snarled again, the other mech shielding the sparkling snorted a hot gust of air.

“Red Alert, Jazz,” one of the other mechs said slowly, softly. “Easy mechs, easy,” the same mech said. The sparkling made a quiet sound and Jazz reached out to him with his spark. The rapid pulse of the sparkling’s spark fluttered against his much older slower pulse, the bond stretched out to engulf the sparkling with the slow beat. He was safe, he would always be safe.

Movement next to him, the mech shielding the sparkling was leaving the room. The sparkling was safe. The sparkling was safe. The sparkling was safe. There was someone saying those words over and over again. The sparkling was safe. That’s all he needed to know. The sparkling was safe. He felt like he was dropping into recharge. The sparkling was safe.

Jazz blinked slowly. Why were his battle systems online? He blinked again and looked to his left, Red Alert and Prowl were gone. He didn’t hear any alarms. His processor felt like it was submersed in glue. Primus he had a processor ache brewing that could split rocks. Even with his visor on the room was painfully bright.

“Jazz?” Ratchet asked softly. Jazz squinted at the CMO and finally cycled his battle systems down. He couldn’t remember why they’d activated. Maybe he’d taken a hit to the head? That would explain the processor ache.

Groaning he rested his head on the table to escape the bright lights. Somehow even the darkness felt too bright.

“Jazz,” Ratchet asked again in that same soft voice that he was pretty sure could send him straight into recharge. “Jazz, have you ever spent significant time around sparklings?” He had to think for a long time about the question, but he finally shook his head. His head still hurt, but the longer he kept his head down the easier it was to think.

The Prime’s rumbling voice was louder than Ratchet’s but didn’t disturb the pleasant awake-not-awake space Jazz was currently occupying. “What happened?”

“Core coding,” Ratchet answered. “Seekers are the most notorious for it, but it’s inside all of us to varying degrees. Unfortunately, the only way to find out where you fall on the spectrum is to spend some time around sparklings so that the coding comes online gradually and the mech can adapt to it.”

Blaster’s laugh broke the brief silence and Jazz managed to lift his head. “Are you serious? I was half a second from hiding under the table because this is the first time Jazz has spent ten breems with a sparkling.” He dropped his head to the table and continued laughing. If Jazz’s head didn’t hurt so much he’d laugh too. The door opened and everyone turned to see Red Alert walk back in with most of Prowl hidden in his arms. “Oh, frag no,” Blaster said, ducking under the table. Jazz did laugh at that.

Jazz rubbed his face and sat up. “How long until this processor ache goes away?” he asked. Red Alert set Prowl into Jazz’s lap before he sat down and the sparkling squeaked in surprise but fluffed his wings and found a comfortable place against Jazz’s chest. “Uh?” He didn’t mind; but he still had two fresh slashes from the mechling. Prowl seemed to have forgotten he was the same mech he’d been mad at the orn before. Jazz couldn’t retract his claws, but had enough practice handling delicate materials his claws didn’t catch on Prowl’s wings or exoform. The mechling tucked his head just under Jazz’s spark where his primary vents expelled the warm air from his spark. Jazz’s sensitive fingers stroked down Prowl’s back feeling the rapid pulse of his spark that beat in time with the odd feeling he had in his spark.

Bond? He hadn’t had a bond in…since his creators. When had he established a bond with Prowl?

“The sparkling doesn’t have to be yours for you to establish a bond,” Ratchet said softly and Jazz blinked in surprise. “Polyhexian spark matrixes allow for easy and stable bonding.”

“That doesn’t seem like something the CMO should share with the class,” Jazz said, still feeling a little irritable from the processor ache.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “If any of these glitches ever bothered to open a biology text, they’d know it, too.”

“You’re not gonna go nuclear again, are you, Jazzmech?” Blaster asked, peeking out from under the table.

“That was my fault,” Red Alert said. “My aggressive response triggered Jazz’s coding and since it hasn’t been online long it is more intense and harder to control.” He gave a pointed look at Ironhide. The bigger mech snorted but looked more contrite than combative. Jazz couldn’t recall what exactly had made him glitch out, something about a loud noise. Ironhide was fond of those.

Ratchet sat back and rubbed his optics. “Well, is anyone else feeling glitchy?”

“No more than usual,” Red Alert said. Jazz let his head fall back and laughed. Blaster got back into his chair, also laughing. The moment of levity only lasted a few seconds before Optimus got them back on topic.

“We still need a solution for what we’re telling the crew,” he sighed. “Red Alert made his point clearly on Prowl’s easily exploitable vulnerability.” Jazz squeezed Prowl a little tighter and the sparkling chirped softly, optics closed. He was safe. The sparkling was safe. As long as that mantra played in his head he felt like he still had a hold on things. Primus help the next mech to even give the sparkling a funny look, though.

“Jazz,” a solemn voice said. “This is Primus, I need you to focus.” He looked up and Blaster snickered. Jazz rolled his optics and lifted his head a bit more so he at least looked like he was paying attention. And if he focused too much on keeping Prowl safe the processor ache seemed to get stronger.

“You were the only one on the dropship with Prowl, right?” Optimus asked Red Alert, not bothering with Blaster and Jazz. Red Alert dipped his chin a fraction, his optics dimming for a brief second before returning to their normal color. “None of the others know yet how badly injured Prowl was _or_ if you brought anything else back with you.” Optimus continued slowly. Red Alert canted his head, his optics flickering back and forth across the ceiling as he thought.

“We’re near a neutral colony,” Ratchet said slowly. “Prowl was…badly injured.” Ratchet hunched his shoulders and a weary haunted look crossed his faceplates. “This odd side effect from the fuser probably saved him. Were he still adult I would advise he be moved to a terrestrial care facility.” Jazz’s tanks churned. In all the vorns—centicycles—he’d served with the cantankerous CMO he had only sent two mechs to terrestrial facilities. Even after Ratchet’s patching they’d looked like they’d just been dragged off the field. More patch than alloy, hardly recognizable. Tightening his arm around Prowl he took refuge in the fluttering pulse against his chest and inside his spark. Prowl was okay. He was fine. As if reading his thoughts, or more likely, picking up on his emotions through their bond, Prowl chirped softly. Red Alert glanced at him and reached over to rub his back between his wing joints.

“So…we tell them we sent Prowl off to the colony for recovery and…where does the sparkling come in, in all this?” Blaster asked.

“Armies are not limitless,” Red Alert said softly, still keeping a hand on Prowl’s back. Prowl snuggled closer to Jazz’s warm chest. He upped his internal temperature a couple degrees. His thin exoform didn’t allow for a lot of temperature manipulation, but he could do a little to make the sparkling more comfortable. “And Decepticon enlistment numbers are dropping every vorn. They’ve been known in the past to abduct sparklings.” That none of the missing had ever been located didn’t need to be said. Jazz’s spark clenched again. “There was an underground facility near where Prowl confronted Devastator.” Red Alert had a far away look in his optics like he got when he was looking for holes in defense strategies.

“I don’t feel right lying to them like that,” Jazz said with a frown, thinking past the flare of anger at the mention of the missing sparklings. Red Alert’s logic was sound. The crew wouldn’t intentionally compromise Prowl’s safety, but they were gossip hounds and betting fiends. This would be all over their communication network and it didn’t matter how small and weak Prowl was right now, there were plenty of Decepticons looking to tear out his spark.

“I think once they see him like this, they’ll understand when we explain the deceit later,” Red Alert said softly. And Jazz agreed with that, too. They might hiss and snarl for an orn or two, but they would understand.

“Well,” Ratchet said wearily. “Let’s get to it, they’ve been worrying about Prowl through the night, might as well give them some news.” Jazz winced again. Sending Prowl off ship was a great cover story, except for the part where if he really had been sent away his life was still on the knife’s edge, capable of going either way. They would still be worried.

Blaster leaned forward, bringing his chair to its normal upright position. “What are we gonna call him? We can’t exactly walk in there with that story and then introduce a sparkling named Prowl.” The room quieted and all optics turned to the sparkling again, this time more quizzical than analytical. Jazz’s coding stayed quiet.

Red Alert rubbed along the side of Prowl’s helm where soft white and burnished gold highlighted the layers of grey, gently waking the sparkling from his nap. Jazz smiled down at the sparkling giving Red Alert an annoyed look that was so familiar Jazz couldn’t stop his laugh. Optics colored like ancient coins looked up at him, the highlights on his helm like a crown of light against his soft and dark grey frame. Red Alert canted his head to the side and spoke Nosukyan that took Jazz’s translator a second to catch up with. “Do your creators call you another name?”

Prowl blinked twice and tilted his head to match Red Alert’s. _Smart aft_. Jazz smiled down at Prowl, the mech was more trouble than the Twins, he just figured out how to make it _useful_ trouble. “Takara,” Prowl answered after a breem. Adult Prowl’s voice had the resonance of thunder, sparkling Prowl had a soft squeaky voice that definitely melted some of Jazz’s processor. Too fraggin’ cute.

“Takara,” Red Alert repeated softly, a soft smile on his face. “How about we call you Takara as well.” It didn’t seem to matter to Prowl one way or another. He settled back into his nap with a wide yawn that showed off his tiny fangs.

“Beloved,” Ratchet said softly, watching the sparkling.

“If Cliffjumper _ever_ finds out he was calling Prowl, ‘beloved’ he will glitch three ways from Cybertron,” Blaster said, optics bright with mirth. Ratchet rolled his optics.

When addressing all ship personnel, most heard the address through their comms, but Optimus always did big announcements in the dispensary so his soldiers could see him and ask questions. Mechs and femmes sat at the rows of orderly tables with anxiety levels high enough the room almost hummed. Jazz didn’t think the dispensary had ever been this packed. There were even mechs in the halls peering in, likely broadcasting a live feed to others behind them.

Ratchet stepped forward to address them first instead of Optimus. Red Alert, mostly shielded by Ironhide’s large frame, held Prowl once more. Red Alert had suggested he hold the sparkling during the announcement. Jazz couldn’t think of a polite way to tell him to get his own fragging sparkling and had passed him over.

It wasn’t until he walked into the room with twitchy, anxious mechs and femmes that he appreciated how far ahead Red Alert thought. He was starting to rev up again, his coding agitated and uncertain if the sparkling should be in such a high stress environment. He knew if Takara had actually been in his arms he’d have pulled a weapon. Too many mechs, too much stress, too many unknowns.

“I know you’ve been worried,” Ratchet said. The room didn’t quiet much more than it had before he spoke. Every mech and femme listened with blank faceplates, ready to hear the worst, already working through what their lives would be like without Prowl. “Prowl’s gone to a terrestrial facility for recovery.” Jazz felt a sympathetic pang in his own spark when some of the masks cracked. Hope and fear that their SIC was still alive, yet that could change in a spark pulse. “There were other…things we had to take care of last night or I would have informed you all then.”

He didn’t even have to glance at Optimus. After half a lifetime of working together, the Autobot Commander stepped in smoothly. Optimus did glance at Red Alert before he started speaking. “Prowl is in quite capable hands and while he is recovering, we have someone here who will need your care and concern.” Interest swept through the ranks like an S-7 virus. Red Alert kept a secure hold on Takara and took one step to the side so he was fully visible.

A grin threatened to spread across Jazz’s face as realization moved from the front of the room to the back. “This is Takara,” Red Alert said, his soft voice carried through the silent room. Takara hid his face against Red Alert’s chest and folded his wings in.

“Sparkling…” Hound said, even from the back of the room his soft disbelieving voice carried like a shout.

“Yup,” Blaster chirped. “I’d suggest keeping your vocals down and ground all wrench-like projectiles unless you want your faceplates ripped off.” Ratchet’s hand twitched like he was going for a wrench or scanner. The first two rows discreetly moved back from the tables so they could duck if need be.

Red Alert, ignoring Blaster, said, “New rules effective immediately. Secure _all_ weapons; bladed, projectile, and energy. Firing range, weight room, labs, wash racks, and cold storage are to remain closed and locked at all times.” He looked directly at the Twins. “No explosives outside of the firing range, period.” Surprisingly, Sideswipe nodded without argument. Addressing the room again, Red Alert finished with, “Anyone found not following these rules will have a fate worse than a few orns in the brig.” Almost as one, the assembled soldiers checked the weapons on their frames, the unfamiliar sound of safeties being clicked into place filling the silence. They may have their fun with Red, but when it came right down to it, a few orns in the brig was light punishment. When Red Alert got creative, nightmares were made. Ironhide had the temper and firepower to keep the sometimes rowdy crew in line, but Red Alert had the imagination and that was more terrifying than a plasma cannon in your face any day.

Optimus, Jazz was certain, was trying not to laugh as he addressed his troops once more, “Thank you for your cooperation with this unexpected event. We’re working to return the sparkling as soon as possible, until then, be mindful of his fragile frame.”

“Where’s he staying?” Silverbolt asked. Of all the mechs and femmes on board he was one of the most experienced with young, having taken custody of Fireflight when he was just growing into his youngling wings.

“With myself and Jazz,” Red Alert answered. Skeptical optics flickered to him and a smile he couldn’t fully suppress lifted a corner of his mouth. If he was in the crowd looking back he wouldn’t believe it either. _Responsible_ was not a word often associated with him, despite his job and rank.

Sideswipe tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the sparkling since Red was now partially behind Ironhide and Optimus. “Do we get to meet him?” he asked, optics bright with interest.

“Why, you thinkin’ you want one,” someone snickered.

“The universe isn’t ready for your progeny,” Quickmix said with a slightly horrified expression.

Sideswipe didn’t rise to the jeers. “I’ve never seen a sparkling before,” he said simply. Jazz was willing to bet most of the crew was in the same position. Rare as sparklings were, they were kept on neutral colonies under heavy supervision and guarded. Not since the Decepticons destroyed the youth sectors had anyone been naïve enough to think their youngest and most vulnerable weren’t targets. Red Alert stroked down Takara’s back.

“He’s still quite nervous now,” Red Alert said softly. “But you’ll all get to meet him when he’s comfortable.” And that made Jazz nervous. None of his comrades would intentionally hurt the sparkling but Gentle and Soft Spoken were not a requirement for joining. Red Alert seemed calm enough about it, though, so he tried to keep his upbeat demeanor. The idea of meeting a sparkling put an excited buzz in the air as Optimus dismissed everyone back to their duties.

As soon as the last mech was out of the room Blaster whistled softly. “Mechs, every on-ship link just lit up like a fragging hypernova.” He nodded at Red Alert. “Good call,” he said, unusually solemn. “This is definitely going to get Decepticon attention and they’re just talking about a sparkling they don’t know. If they knew it was Prowl there would be even more traffic.”

“Step up your own monitoring of Decepticon communications,” Optimus said. “If they do send someone to infiltrate, we’ve got to have all the lead we can get to keep Prowl safe.” Blaster nodded in a distracted way; optics almost white as he scanned frequencies. Optimus turned to Jazz and the saboteur nodded curtly. His bots would also be keeping a sharper optic on things. They wouldn’t know anymore than the crew, that _The Ark_ had a new sparkling, but in something like this, the fewer bots who knew the less chance there was of something being said.

Red Alert shifted Takara to his other side and slowly twisted his chin back and forth to loosen the tense cables in his neck. His short fang-like horns glittered like diamonds in the bright overhead lights. Blunt claws meant more for digging and ripping through turf and roots than combat, curled easily around Takara’s small frame. Takara rested his head against Red Alert’s chest, near his spark and started to look less ready to fight and more ready to nap. “Jazz,” Red Alert said softly, tilting his head toward the door. “We need to coordinate our schedules so one of us at least is always with him. And,” he sighed, looking about as tired as Takara, “we need to get into Prowl’s files and see how to divide the workload.”

Jazz groaned. “Jackie better get this fixed quick,” he grumbled. Ironhide huffed a laugh and Jazz shot him a look. “Keep it up an’ I’ll decide you’re the best mech for filing shift reports.”

“Don’t threaten other officers, Jazz,” Optimus said, heading for the door. “It’s unprofessional.” Ironhide followed their commander, a step behind, the quiet whine of his cannons that never fully powered down an ominous underscore to his laugh. Jazz slicked his fins back and glared at the big mech’s back.

“What I gotta pay you to take his recoil spring out next time he’s in for a routine?” Jazz asked Ratchet without looking at the medic.

“I’ll do that for free, how much are you gonna pay to keep your name out of the following write-up,” he answered. Jazz rolled his optics and looked at him, but the medic was looking at Takara, optics flashing as he ran scans over the sparkling. Takara opened his optics and glowered at the medic, flashing his tiny fangs. “It’s a scan, mechling,” Ratchet murmured in surprisingly fluid Nosukyan, “It can’t hurt you.” The sparkling rested his head against Red Alert’s chest again but kept his optics open a fraction, the gold shining through the slivers. Ratchet shook his head and sighed. Ratchet said something in his language and Takara’s wings flicked but that was the only reaction. Switching back to Iax, he said, “If he still doesn’t have an appetite after his nap, bring him down.” He tapped Blaster on top of the head with two fingers when he walked past the flashy red and gold mech. “You stay in there more than a joor and I’ll put you in stasis for the rest of the orn.”

Blaster blinked himself out the network and clumsily swatted at Ratchet’s hand. “Soundwave is in the network no less than half an orn _every_ orn. How’m I supposed to keep tabs on things if you’re kickin’ me out every half joor,” he huffed, following the medic. Jazz watched the two of them leave, shaking his head.

“There isn’t one bit of Soundwave that doesn’t have some kind of black market modification. His personality wasn’t uninstalled, it’s slowly being overwritten so he can perform a function. Is that what you want?” The argument was old, and Blaster had heard the same thing a thousand times, but he still hung his head and mumbled an answer. He sent Jazz a ping a few seconds after he and Ratchet went out the doors giving him an update on the halls.

“I’m guessin’ that’s as quiet as they’re gonna get,” Jazz said to Red Alert. Takara’s wings drooped around his shoulders in a display of exhaustion that was almost cute enough to offline a mech. Red Alert’s cheek brushed his head, a small smile curving his mouth. “He’s had quite the busy morning. Would you like to take point?”

Jazz laughed and did as he was asked, walking out first. He’d run security detail for Prime before Prowl took position as SIC and when he saw the mechs and femmes who just _happened_ to be having their conversations by the door the routine came back easily. Takara was all but in recharge in Red Alert’s arms and no amount of curiosity was going to have mechs pressing into the Gyish’s space. The sparkling was safe.

It didn’t take long to get back to Red Alert’s quarters and once inside Jazz let a huff of hot air leave his vents. It was easier telling friends and subordinates the sparkling needed a nap before they could ogle him than looking over strangers for weapons, but it was still tiring. “Well done,” Red Alert said softly. He walked over to his berth and carefully set Takara down without disturbing the mechling’s nap.

Jazz leaned against the door, trying not to look too interested in the room. He had never been in Red Alert’s quarters. As far as he knew, Prowl and Ratchet were the only two that had gone past the threshold. It was like entering an unexplored planet. It wasn’t as austere as Jazz had thought it would be. The furniture was the same as his, military issued and all that, but Red Alert had painted his in soft browns. The original pale gray walls were still visible but the starkness had been softened with brushstrokes of darker grays and white. With the furniture spread against the backdrop it was easy to imagine they were in a foggy woodland. It was soft, close, and quiet; everything Red Alert needed when his glitch got the better of him.

“What’d Ratchet mean he didn’t have an appetite this morning?” he asked stepping away from the door. He didn’t see any low grade left out, but maybe Percy or Jack had been by to pick it up and do something with it.

Red Alert didn’t seem too concerned about it and didn’t answer until he had Prowl tucked in snugly so he would roll out of the berth. Red Alert was a Primus sent gift, Jazz wouldn’t have thought of that until it was too late. “He ate some but given his age and frametype he should have shown more interest in food,” he kept his voice in a low murmur as he sat down at his workstation. “But it seems young Prowl is not a morning mech, so it may be he was more interested in recharge. I won’t worry about it until after he wakes up. If he’s still not interested, then it will be a concern.”

Jazz sidestepped five octagon blocks scattered on the floor between him and Red Alert. He bent down and picked one up turning it over. They were old, the finish beginning to chip off along the edges exposing the dull alloy underneath. On one side the block was a solid blue, not very remarkable, a little scratched but nothing else noteworthy. The opposite face was painted red. Another had a stenciled cybercat sitting on it and a muddog on the opposite side. There were Gyish letters on two sides and the final sides had numbers. “Where’d you get toys?” Jazz asked softly, mindful of Takara’s quiet clicks as he cycled deeper into recharge. Jazz wished he would have kept some of his old toys, although, most of them were only fun in water.

Red Alert stared at the screen but didn’t move to log in and took so long to answer Jazz thought maybe he hadn’t asked the question out loud.

“I’ve had them,” Red Alert finally answered. “For a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reworking this story is helping me get through the burnout that's consumed me for the last year or so and it's *so* nice to feel excited about writing again. So, sincerely, thank you for all of your comments and kudos and bookmarks. <3


	4. The Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe out there. I'm still an essential employee, but I took a week off work before the stress kills me and I've dedicated that time to doing some writing.

Jazz hefted Takara a little higher on his hip as he walked into the rec room. Despite the healing slashes on Jazz’s arm, Takara did enjoy being held. Now that they could speak to each other, the mechling was relaxing into life aboard The Ark. Jazz’s coding still redlined at odd times, like if someone shouted too close to Takara, but now that he knew to expect the intermittent _PROTECT_ episodes, they were easier to throttle back and manage. The rest of the crew was going through similar growing pains. 

Core coding was flaring up all over the ship. In the last two orns Mirage had put Brawn in a chokehold for getting too loud while Takara was near. Brawn was never living that down and Mirage was still too embarrassed to be seen. He was scaring mechs left and right moving through the halls with his cloaking on. Blurr had tripped and almost snapped his spinal relay when he zipped into the dispensary and saw Takara close to the door. He’d spent two joors in the med bay with Ratchet in a panic, convinced his legs had stopped working of their own volition and wanted the coding somehow removed. No one was certain but it was a strong rumor that Ironhide was more trigger happy than usual. Moonracer had broadcast that if anyone so much as scuffed Takara, she’d throw them out an airlock. Beachcomber—of all mechs—had also dented a couple of loud mechs when they startled Takara in the hall. 

Jazz was glad he was here for all of it, because if he’d come back from a mission and seen everyone acting glitched he would’ve assumed Megatron had a hand in it. As it was; Silverbolt, Red Alert, and Ratchet seemed to be the only ones genuinely unaffected by Takara’s presence. The younger medics all had a range of firewalls put in place to protect their still developing processors from their medical coding and seemed to be a little lost and uncertain without the full use of their medical faculties.   
But, with the medics’ help, the crew was aware they might have…strong…reactions to Takara and most were taking it slow around the sparkling. Stroking Takara’s gilded primaries, Jazz strolled over to a quiet table with Hound and Trailbreaker.   


Despite Trailbreaker’s enormous size, his quiet voice and gentle demeanor made him one of the first mechs Takara was comfortable with even though the scout was still working through the Nosukyan language pack. The sparkling chirped once in greeting, his wings lifting over his shoulders, and a slow smile spread across Trailbreaker’s faceplates. “Evenin’, heard you’re warming up to be a little spitfire.” His hand was larger than Takara’s wings, but his fingers were gentle when he rubbed the sparkling’s helm. Jazz sat down with exhaustion that was only partly feigned. 

Takara was Prowl, and Prowl was stubborn, fearless, and—more often than not—utterly unmoved by anything the universe could throw at him. Jazz was beginning to find out the hard way those qualities were innate. The sparkling climbed chairs, shelves, tables, consoles. Nothing was safe. His tiny claws found holds on every surface, anything that could get him up and on a perch. Usually half a mech above Jazz’s head and way too high and Jazz’s coding glitched him three ways until he could get the mechling down. Takara had even figured out how to open the door to Jazz’s quarters. He’d had to code the lock from the inside to keep the sparkling contained. 

Takara jumped off Jazz’s lap as soon as he sat down, wings slightly flared to break his fall. Jazz didn’t think he’d go too far, not yet, since they’d just come from Percy’s lab with the mechling’s evening ration. Rubbing part of his faceplates, Jazz kept an optic and a half on the sparkling. “I’ma be as glitched as Red before this is over.” He watched Takara’s wings and as soon as he saw the telltale flare he shot a hand down to keep him from bolting. 

The mechling made a short hissing sound that Ratchet said would develop into the earth-shaking growl Praxians and Seekers were known for in due time. The narrowed optic glare was Prowl’s most effective fear tactic when dealing with recalcitrant recruits. “Why don’t we go back to the joors you spent clinging to my armor afraid of your own shadow?” Jazz asked affectionately in Iax. Takara ignored the words he didn’t understand and tried to get past Jazz’s hand. “Here, spark, are you hungry?” he asked in Nosukyan. That caught Takara’s attention and he was back on Jazz’s lap in a second. 

Hound and Trailbreaker both laughed and Jazz rubbed his optics again while Takara was distracted with his low-grade. “Yes, let’s get you refueled so you can glitch me some more,” he said, gently rubbing between the sparkling’s wings.

Jazz cast his optics around the rec room while Takara was distracted taking note of everyone in the room and anything on the floor that wasn’t bolted down. At some point, Takara was going to get away from him, just like he had earlier in the orn, and the best Jazz could do was prepare. Blurr and Streetwise sat at corner table playing cards, talking and laughing at speeds only they and Bluestreak could understand. 

Having taken Red Alert’s threat to heart, the usual stray acid pellets, plas charges, blades, and incendiary materials were nowhere to be seen. It was odd seeing the blue-grey tiled floor not strewn with materials from the war. 

The rest of the mechs in the room were gathered at the far end of the room watching a holovid. The Twins Jazz watched for an extra second; Sideswipe had been on suspiciously good behavior the last two orns. Whether he was afraid of what Red Alert’s punishment would be if the rules were broken or if, more likely, he was cooking up something truly spectacular was anyone’s guess. The red twin didn’t notice Jazz’s attention as a fist flying action sequence blurred across the screen. Bumblebee, Bluestreak, and surprisingly, First Aid sat huddled together whispering and pointing at the screen, giggling when a rather unbelievable high-flying kick was executed. Cliffjumper and Gears lay on their chests on the floor with their helms propped up by their hands. Inferno sat back in one chair and had his feet stretched out on another as he sipped his energon.   
“Everything safe, sentinel?” Hound drawled teasingly. Jazz rolled his optics, the whole crew was having a field day with his core coding. When they weren’t the ones glitching.   
“You try keeping track of him for more than a joor, he might as well have Mirage’s cloaking tech,” Jazz grumped. Takara finished his bottle in record time and stretched his oversized wings wide before shaking all over. Golden optics bright and curious he zeroed in on the laughter coming from the holovid group and he jumped off Jazz’s lap. Jazz intercepted the clumsy get away and Takara huffed at him before sitting down and peering around Jazz’s legs at the crowd around the holovid. 

Hound watched the sparkling with bright optics. “How’s Red fair with ‘em? I’ve never seen him give our all-knowing security director the slip.” Takara looked up at Hound and chirruped at him before crawling around Jazz’s legs to the old scout. Hound scooped him up without reservation. Having been a biologist before the war broke out, he was accustomed to handling everything from fragile new blooms to—sedated—cybercats of all kinds. He was one of the few who didn’t balk at picking up the sparkling. Once in Hound’s lap, Takara folded his wings down and continued watching the holovid group from his better vantage point. Golden optics narrowed and flicked back and forth quickly. Jazz couldn’t believe no one had done a double take on Takara yet. That look was straight from Adult Prowl.

Jazz sat back in his chair, able to relax a breem with someone else holding the sparkling. “I dunno how Red does it. I mean, he crawls away from me and I pretty much glitch for ten breems ‘til I find ‘em. He crawls away from Red and in less than a breem he’s got ‘em back, no panic, no fuss. Nothin’.” He sighed wistfully. “He just makes it look so fraggin’ easy.” 

“Red is the security director,” Trailbreaker pointed out. “He’s probably got every sensor in his body trained on that sparkling.” Jazz laughed not certain if it was in mirth or hysteria.

“That’s the thing that gets me,” Jazz said, putting his head in his hands, not quite covering his face. Takara was flicking the ends of his wings, a sure sign he was about to make a break. “I’m head of special operations an’ I can’t keep track of a sparkling!” Trailbreaker gave him a long appraising look and then sat back in his chair laughing. “He’s single-handedly destroying my reputation,” Jazz lamented. He was hoping when they got Prowl back to usual the crew would overlook how the sparking was giving him the run around. It was _Prowl_ , after all.

Hound chuckled at that and Jazz lifted his head with a long sigh. Then blinked. “Hound…where’s Takara?” Hound stared at him for an extra second before slowly looking down at his empty lap. The old scout and expert tracker slowly looked under his chair. Trailbreaker stared with wide optics unblinking. Jazz kept a hysterical giggle at bay through willpower alone. 

Trailbreaker was not as successful. “Holy frag, he just…” his breathless laugh punctuated every word. Both scouts, after clearing the immediate area, began scanning the room with sharp optics. With every escape, Jazz tried to find a pattern to Takara’s movements, but the sparkling was a master. He could probably learn a thing or two from him. The card players were still focused on their game, the surest sign the sparkling wasn’t within arm’s length of them. Most mechs and femmes tended to freeze if Takara wandered too close.

“There’s the glitchmouse,” Hound said. Jazz turned in his seat to follow his gaze to the crowd around the holovid. Takara slunk around chair legs head swiveling back and forth like he was looking for something. He did a double take and then got on his unsteady legs and ran two steps to the couch where the Twins sat and scrambled up the side to the back.

“Catch him!” Jazz yelled, already sprinting for the couch. The scene unfolded in slow motion. Takara flaring his night sky wings and launching off the back of the couch. The Twins turning too slow to look. First Aid shooting to his feet and jumping for the sparkling that was already off the back of the couch. Inferno tossing his empty cup and toppling a chair onto Gears as he lunged for the sparkling. 

Everything sped up again when First Aid crashed into the Twins a second before Inferno’s massive frame lost balance and flattened all three. Gears threw the toppled chair off him into Bumblebee and Bluestreak. The young Praxian flapped free of the chaos while Bumblebee fell to the floor whirring and chirping angrily. Jazz dove and rolled, catching Takara at the end of his shaky flight. Jazz’s spark was nothing but a hum in his chest. Takara bit his wrist and squeezed out of his arms with an indignant huff. A loud clang and heavy thud signaled Inferno being pushed to the floor, followed by a great deal of very loud swearing and First Aid’s panicked apologetic voice. Jazz rolled to his chest and glared at Takara. “You. Are going to Kill. Me,” he said slowly. 

“He damn near killed three mechs,” Hound said, helping Jazz to his feet.

Sunstreaker came over the back of the couch and glowered at Takara. “Listen you little glitch,” The yellow twin snarled.

Hound pinned the angry twin with a dangerous glare. “He’s a sparkling, Sunstreaker, they cause mischief, no one’s hurt and your paint ain’t scratched.”

“Sunny, so fraggin’ help me, I’ll do more’n dent you,” Jazz growled, lifting his ridge of cephalic fins. Sunstreaker didn’t hear or didn’t care. Closer to the holoscreen, Gears and Cliffjumper were ready to tear into Inferno for falling on them and their loud voices carried through the room.

“No one scuffs my fraggin’ paint,” Sunstreaker snapped. Takara flared his wings and hissed. Without a second guess or hesitation, the sparkling lunged at Sunstreaker. Tiny claws finding purchase in the twin’s glossy armor, he scaled the much larger adult as easily as he had the couch and in a second was in Sunstreaker’s face. Sunstreaker stumbled back with a surprised shout and Jazz could almost feel sorry for him, he knew what those sharp claws and teeth could do to unprotected exoform. Sunstreaker hit the back of the couch and flipped head over heels with another surprised shout and hit the floor on the other side.

“Takara!” Jazz shouted, echoed by First Aid’s high voice and Hound’s angry swearing. Ratchet was going to kill all of them if the sparkling had so much as a dent on him. Primus help them if Red Alert got to them first. 

On the other side of the couch Takara snapped and hissed at Sunstreaker’s hands, doing their best to keep the quick sparkling’s sharp claws and teeth away from his face. Sunstreaker’s rumbling growl vibrated the floor and Jazz snarled back, coding kicking fully into _PROTECT_. Hound and First Aid both tried to grab Takara, yelling at Sunstreaker to stop moving in Iax and Takara to hold still in Nosukyan, but the sparkling snapped at and dodged their hands, pitbent on continuing his attack. Forcefields shimmered and collapsed as Trailbreaker tried to contain Takara, but the sparkling was snapping and dodging and ducking quick as a water snake and Trailbreaker wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Bumblebee and Bluestreak were trying to pull Cliffjumper off Inferno while Gears kicked the big mech’s legs. Takara jumped off Sunstreaker when Hound came close to snagging him. Sharp fangs bit into Sunstreaker’s neck drawing a surprised yelp and curse from the heavy frontliner. Jazz felt the breeze of wing slip through his fingers when he lunged for the sparkling. 

“Takara, what in Primus’ name are you doing?” Red Alert’s low voice cut through the chaos and everyone froze. Takara unfroze first and stepped on Sunstreaker’s face to launch himself off the twin, wings spread so he could do a wobbly glide most of the way to Red Alert. The sparkling chirped happily at the security director and climbed his frame to sit on his shoulder. Red Alert surveyed the scene impassively, Sunstreaker on the floor bleeding from scratches and bites while Jazz, Hound, Trailbreaker, and First Aid stared back at him with their own selection of shallow wounds and then glanced at the sparkling on his shoulder. “Somehow, I know all of this is your doing, but I cannot fathom how.” Bumblebee and Bluestreak had Gears and Cliffjumper separated from Inferno, who had retreated behind the couch where Sideswipe watched the whole scene unfold with shock frozen on his face.

Jazz rubbed his optics and took three breaths deep enough to fill his aerum and slowly pushed all the air out. “Hiya, Red.”

Red Alert raised an optic ridge but otherwise didn’t answer. “Cliffjumper, you are still on probation for the last fight. Anymore reported incidents and you will have a septorn in the brig,” he said. Then he turned and left with Takara still on his shoulder. For another five seconds, no one moved.

The silence was broken when Sideswipe screamed in delight and laughed, kicking his feet like a sparkling on the couch while his brother picked himself up off the floor. Sunstreaker snarled at him and punched him hard in the shoulder. Sideswipe continued laughing so hard his auxiliary fans kicked on and tears leaked from his optics.

“Primus be a smelter,” Hound said looking around at the toppled furniture and the brewing fight between the Twins as Sideswipe continued to laugh so hard he started to hiccup and Sunstreaker’s rage found a new outlet.

“Separate those two, will you Trail,” Jazz said, jogging for the door. Red Alert had to be glitching three different ways after seeing Takara in the middle of that but he’d held it together well enough with everyone watching.

Red Alert hadn’t gotten far down the hall, his usual brisk stride held back by the sparkling still balancing on his shoulder. “Red?” Jazz called. The mech paused and waited for Jazz to catch up, Takara chirped an innocent sparkling greeting and Jazz gave him a side optic. “You okay? I swear, I was tryin’ to break it up.” 

To his everlasting surprise, Red Alert laughed. It wasn’t loud or long, but it was a real laugh that Jazz didn’t hear that often. Optics bright as he looked up and down the hall before he continued walking he said, “You have no idea how fond of mischief Prowl truly is, do you?” He tickled said sparkling’s chin until Takara made a fake snap at his fingers. The next second, Takara was sliding off Red Alert’s shoulder to his chest. The hairline scratched the sparkling left didn’t concern the security director as he brought his arms up to hold the sparkling securely.

“It took me half a decacycle to know the mech even laughed,” Jazz said.

Red Alert rolled his optics but nuzzled Takara’s head. “No serious injuries?”

“Only pride,” Jazz confirmed. “Thought I was gonna deactivate Sunny, how the frag is he gonna growl at a fraggin’ sparkling like that?” Jazz said, coding still nipping at him for not immediately sending the yellow twin to the Unmaker.

“He’s an adult, Jazz, all sounds he makes will sound threatening when compared to Takara. He didn’t mean it,” Red Alert said. Takara’s optics began closing with more frequency and he snuggled closer to Red Alert’s chest with a soft squeak.

Jazz did his best not to scowl too hard. How the pit was Red Alert the sparkling specialist. He’d thought it would be Ratchet or one of the softer spoken mechs or femmes like First Aid. But Takara still wanted little or nothing to do with medical staff and while he did nap with Jazz on occasion, he seemed to only want to cause chaos when they were together. “It’s Sunny, Red. You think he wasn’t truly fragged off about smudges on his armor? We’re gonna have to put a restraining order on him now, his face is all scratched up”

Red Alert canted his head when he looked at Jazz. “One hit would have been enough to fling Takara to the other side of the room,” he said, sounding a little mystified. “Takara is certainly fast, but the Twins were gladiators, they survived as long as they did by always being the fastest. Takara wouldn’t have stood a chance against Sunstreaker had true harm been intended.” He shrugged while Jazz had a worrying moment to think about that. “I think, as with most things involving the Twins, the situation could have been de-escalated, but the presence of others assuming the worst about them instead made it worse.” 

Jazz frowned at that very gentle scolding but couldn’t think of anything to say back because Red Alert was right. If Sunstreaker had wanted to hurt Takara he had razor sharp augmented claws, his own set of powerful fangs, and the skill, speed, and strength to easily cause mortal harm to an angry sparkling. In the heat of things, it had seemed Takara was holding his own, but there was no way the Twin couldn’t have dislodged him. Even standing up quickly would have done the trick, knocking Takara to the floor for at least a second. “Okay, so what the frag just happened?” Jazz said, feeling irritable now.

Red Alert looked down at Takara and sighed. “You know Takara isn’t always mad at you when he tries to bite your fingers,” he said. “Because you’ve learned the difference between his play bites and true bites brought on by anger or frustration, right?” Jazz nodded slowly. “The Twins never learned how to play as we did, Jazz,” Red Alert continued softly. “I know the crew thinks Prowl and I too lenient on them with their misbehavior, but true fights between the Twins or anyone else are truly rare. They’re trying to play, but they are still figuring out how to do that.” They came to a stop in front of Red Alert’s door, Takara clicking sleepily where he was snug against the older mech’s chest. “Unfortunately, very few have figured out the difference between their play bites and their true bites and they treat everything as aggressive. It’s why they enjoy sparring so much. It’s the one time everyone is ‘playing’ the same game and no one takes it too personal when Sunstreaker throws them across the room.”

Jazz continued to frown while he thought that over. “I forget how young they are sometimes,” he said softly. Despite the Twins’ ferocity in battle, they were still only a few decacycles older than First Aid. It was easy to forget with their tall, broad Kaonite frames—augmented to make them even larger—and their impressive array of rude phrases and insults. 

“They had to grow up quickly or die,” Red Alert said, arms tightening minutely around Prowl’s tiny frame. The sparkling clicked once and lifted his head giving the hallway a recharge heavy once over before burrowing close to Red Alert once more, one too large wing clumsily lifting to cover his face. A faint smile touched Red Alert’s mouth. “I will see you after your shift tomorrow,” he said. Jazz bid him goodnight and started to head to his quarters before deciding to detour back around to the rec room to make sure things had settled down. 

Flipping on his camouflage, he kept close to the wall and peeked into the room. He was off shift and while he loved hanging out with the crew, Takara was also running him ragged and he needed more recharge than the sparkling. He was just here to make sure nothing was on fire and no one had been put through a wall.   
Inside, the Twins were sprawled out on the floor on their backs with one of their personal holoscreens watching something about space, optics wide as a star exploded with great fanfare. Bumblebee, First Aid, and Bluestreak were doing something similar nearby, but they were going through Bumblebee’s pictures from his last mission. The older mechs: Hound, Springer, Seaspray, and Silverbolt had taken over the couch and chairs and were watching a documentary on some aquatic species. More mechs had gathered with Blurr and Streetwise and now there were credits up for grabs. Jazz rolled his optics, but let them be. He glanced at the Twins once more before backing away. They were still glued to their space show, no mischief or plotting on Sideswipe’s face and not even Sunstreaker was looking surly. Young. They were young. He was patient with Bumblebee and Bluestreak when they made mistakes, it wasn’t fair to the Twins that they didn’t get the same leniency. The same leniency, he realized, Prowl and Red Alert had always given them for their trespasses. 

He kept his camouflage activated on his way back to his quarters so he would have space to think. 

  
_Jazz, need you in communications for emergency contact_ , Blaster’s unusually serious voice had Jazz rolling out of his berth before he’d finished the sentence. Jazz had switched to a diurnal schedule while he was one of Takara’s guardians. His body was still fighting him on it, probably because Takara didn’t seem to recharge during the night or during the day but at odd joors early in the evening and morning. The mechling was somehow up most of the night and most of the day and Jazz had to admit he was getting too old to keep up.

Keeping his panic in check from vorns of practice, Jazz tried not to come up with worst-case-scenarios as he headed for the communications room. It was early, even for regular diurnal mechs, fourth shift wasn’t over for another joor. Were Jazz on his regular recharge cycle he would still be wide awake, too. Blaster wasn’t supposed to be working fourth shift, either. So someone had pulled him from his berth as well. His spark skipped a pulse and he started running through all of their active ops. He’d gotten check-ins on time, he’d gotten reports on time. Nothing on the administrative side had gone wrong, but the field was a dangerous place.

“Jazz!” Hound caught him as he zipped around a corner, only one hall away from the communications room. One orn, Primus would finally take pity on him and allow him to get somewhere on time. “What…is it Prowl?” Hound asked in a hoarse whisper. Jazz’s vents skipped, stalled, and started again.

“Primus, no!” Jazz said breathlessly. “No, no, no, Prowl is okay. Business,” he yelled as he restarted his sprint. He liked being head of special operations, it was him and his teams that went in and got the information needed to save lives. Another perk, most of the time, no one questioned his mad dashes through the halls. And if they did, he didn’t need anything more than a quick “business” to end any and all questions of what he was doing. 

Rounding the corner to the bridge he slid through the doors only ten breems after receiving Blaster’s message.

Blaster sat at the communications panel with a slight frown on his face as he concentrated on setting up every bit of encryption security they had. “Prowl’s sire has finally contacted Optimus,” Red Alert said quietly as Jazz came to a sliding stop next to him. Takara gave him a chipper greeting, looking wide awake as ever. Red Alert looked tired and that made Jazz perversely happy. The mech might be able to keep up with Takara in every other way, but apparently neither of them could handle his weird recharge cycles. “Whoever he is, he has a fair bit of encryption on his end as well. This will have to be short or we’ll have every Decepticon in the galaxy trying to get in on what’s happening.” Red Alert murmured. It was the catch-22 of intelligence. Heavily encoded messages were the crème de la crème of intel and both sides were always on the lookout for them. But at the same time, the usual encryption that wouldn’t catch more than a passing glance could easily be deciphered by any bored mech at the console.

“Going live in thirty ticks,” Blaster said tersely. His cassettes sat around his feet, all of them hooked up to various wires helping him scan frequencies and block attacks, and hopefully, give him enough of a warning that if Soundwave found a way in they could terminate the connection before he gleaned anything valuable. Jazz felt his spark starting to accelerate with familiar anticipation. Sometimes communications could be just as spark pounding as a live battlefield. 

The screen fuzzed as codes of encryption zipped through before resolving into a stern pale colored Praxian. Jazz blinked, momentarily disoriented by the complete lack of familiarity. With a wide face and optics his facial structure wasn’t even close to Prowl’s. The wings held archly over his shoulders didn’t look like young Prowl’s or adult Prowl’s. “Optimus Prime,” he greeted in a voice just as alien as the rest of him. 

Takara froze in place, optics on the screen but no sign of happiness on his tense little face. Jazz frowned and shifted minutely so he was a little more in front of Red Alert. The sparkling pressed closer to Red Alert as if he was trying to hide in the adult mech’s armor.

How could Prowl not carry even a microchip of his sire’s characteristics? Even if he took more after his creator, there should have been something familiar about him. “I am Ortho, I was quite surprised to receive your message. I do wish we were closer so this meeting could be held in a more formal setting,” the pale mech said. Each word pronounced precisely without any wasted syllables; the sounds clipped off almost as soon as they were made. Prowl’s words lingered on vowels and the harsh consonants of Iax were softened to rasps. It was relaxing. Calming. It was one of the reasons he was on Ratchet’s list of permitted personnel in the med bay post battle. Listening to Ortho speak was like having flash grenades going off near his audios. 

Optimus volleyed the pleasantries well and Jazz came back to the conversation when the Autobot leader shifted his weight a little to his right. It was an unconscious motion he did any time he was about to walk into an uncomfortable or possibly confrontational situation. “I will preface this by saying Prowl is unharmed, but there has been an accident,” Optimus said carefully.

Ortho’s head tilted a little but there was little else in the way of reaction. _That is not Prowl’s sire_ , he said to Red via their comm link. The narrowing of Ortho’s optics was not indicative of concern but of suspicion. If Jazz’s creators were still alive and got a message like that, they’d be calling the whole pond together to come get him. Red Alert’s face didn’t change but there was a shift in his posture, a silent agreement with Jazz’s assessment. Takara was uncharacteristically still and silent, optics still on the screen.  
Optimus stepped to the side to reveal Red Alert with Prowl tucked against his side. Ortho’s optics flickered and then widened in shock. “What have you done to him?” Ortho hissed, his wings rose high above his shoulders. Prowl’s small head ducked under Red Alert’s chin, his tiny wings closing around his body protectively. Jazz lifted a lip but a sharp look from Optimus kept him from growling. Red Alert ignored the look and a low rumble more felt than heard rolled through the room. Ortho was either too upset by Prowl’s appearance to notice the sound or it wasn’t picked up by the audio. “Primus, has anyone seen him like this?” Ortho pushed away from where he was sitting, wings still high over his shoulders. Prowl only did that when he was ready to do battle. The fins along Jazz’s head rose a fraction.

“We have taken care to keep his true identity concealed.” Optimus tried to placate the irate mech while giving Red Alert and Jazz another look. Red Alert pointedly shifted his frame so he was turned towards Optimus and Ortho could no longer stare at Prowl. Chin lowered, Red Alert snorted a hot gust of air. Ortho’s optics flickered to him but refocused on the Prime, dismissing the threat. There wasn’t much Red could do with Ortho who-fragging-knew how far away, but Jazz was pretty sure if a Gyish as powerfully built as Red Alert gave him a warning—even from three star systems away—he’d change his tune real quick.  
“We’re working to reverse what has happened, but in the interim I need access to Prowl’s medical files,” Ratchet continued as if he and Prime were one speaker and also ignoring Red Alert’s threat. Although, Ratchet was probably one of six mechs onboard that could take Red Alert in a fight and win. “If we’re to care for him properly I need to know more about his unique system signatures and requirements.”

Ortho pressed a hand against his forehead and closed his optics. “Yes, yes, yes, I’ve sent them as well as the required modifications.” Pulling his hands away from his face again his optics narrowed at Prowl. “I will rendezvous as soon as possible to pick him up, but you can begin the process now.” Jazz uttered a low warning whistle, his ridge of cephalic fins fully rising. It was little wonder Prowl never mentioned his sire.

“We will be docking at lunar base 7981-B in the next septorn,” Optimus said slowly. “But the scientists onboard The Ark are at the forefront of their fields and are working on reversing the affect.” 

Ortho frowned hard at Optimus but before he could speak, Red Alert gained his attention. “Modifications?” Red Alert asked in a deadly soft voice that broke Blaster’s concentration long enough for him to look at the mech over his shoulder. Red Alert’s gentle fingers stroked over Prowl’s wings and he murmured something softly to the tiny mech that had Prowl’s wings uncurling a fraction.

Ortho snapped his wings back, from what Jazz understood of Smokescreen’s and Bluestreak’s body language he seemed either surprised or aghast. “Yes! Primus, he’s a Praxian. He can’t be seen like that; it’s a disgrace. 7981-B, I’m too far out to meet you, we’ll set up another rendezvous so I can gather him.” Ortho glowered at everyone, including the Prime, but it didn’t have the weight of Prowl’s glare. There was something missing in Ortho that Prowl had in spades, but Jazz couldn’t put a finger on what it was.   
Red Alert flicked his optics up while keeping his head close to Prowl’s. “He will not be modified in any way, you arrogant glitch.” Jazz admired the quiet viciousness in his voice. Smooth as poison and twice as deadly. Ratchet’s optics flashed when he received the files Ortho sent and unless the room caught on fire, he would be out of the discussion while he reviewed them. The mech had a one-track mind.

The room quieted, Optimus blinking in surprise. That sort of behavior was expected from Jazz, but Red Alert and Prowl were so often By The Book that no one ever knew what to do when they went off script. Ortho stared, wings slack in disbelief. “How…dare you,” he hissed, blue optics flashing white with fury. “That is not your decision to make, you are not his sire!”

“Neither, are you.” And with that, Red Alert turned and left the room. Ortho’s mouth fell open and Jazz felt like his processor was rebooting. Blaster spun around and stared slack jawed at the door, optics bright, mouth beginning to curve into a smile that promised uproarious laughter. Optimus rubbed above his optic ridge while Ratchet’s optics stayed bright as he read through the files sent to him. The dark glower on his face kept Jazz’s mirth in check.

As soon as Optimus awkwardly signed off with a promise to call back and set up a new rendezvous time, Ratchet hissed. Jazz and Blaster both jumped back. Ratchet was Ahnkmorish, so hissing was as natural to him as whistles were for Jazz, but to hear the signature sound from Ratchet? Ratchet who preferred to dent and throw and curse and threaten; that made it even more terrifying. “Ratchet?” Optimus asked with no shortage of surprise.  
Ratchet made a feral sound caught somewhere between another hiss and curse. “Red Alert was right, that miserable son of the Unmaker has no right to even look at Prowl much less decide for his health and wellbeing.” Whipping around he jabbed the keyboard next to Blaster, who froze completely while the wrathful medic was within arm’s reach. “Do you see this?” His sibilant words had Blaster slowly edging away. The data scrolling across the screen that meant so much to Ratchet was just a long list of dates and unfamiliar phrases to Jazz.

“What is it?” Blaster asked when he was at a safe distance. He broke cover and dove behind Jazz when the medic snarled.

“Surgeries! A dozen before Prowl was even a youngling, not even adult mechs can have that many surgeries in that short period of time. He is lucky to be alive!” Ratchet’s fury had Optimus taking a step back, but Jazz held his ground as the dates continued to scroll along the screen.   
Blaster chanced looking out from behind his safe haven to look at the screen as well. “All of those?” he said softly. “Every line is a surgery? For what? I thought you said he was fine at his last check up.”

“He is,” Ratchet snapped. “All of this slag is cosmetic.” His blue optics darkened to a tank churning purple. “Helm modifications, facial realignment, cable and gear modifications in his shoulders and hips, they docked his fragging wings!” Fury churned the silence of the room. Jazz felt his optics darkening to match Ratchet’s. “It’s little fragging wonder Prowl walks around here like his joints are half frozen, he hardly has an original part left. Even his pit-slagging spark chamber was modified when they narrowed his shoulders.” The usual rock steady medic’s hands shook as he shut down the data stream. “Everything, everything, from the inside out has been changed in some way to make him look like a full-sparked Praxian. That glitch was willing to kill a sparkling to make him look the part and medics were complicit in it.” Ratchet’s optics began to lose their purple tint as his volcanic fury cooled to something even deadlier. “And I don’t care if I have to scrap them myself, they will never touch another living creature again.”  
“Ratchet,” Optimus said quietly. “That is a conversation for another time, when Prowl is back to the age he should be. Our concern now is to keep him healthy until Wheeljack has reverse engineered the fuser.” Ratchet flexed his strong hands and gave a curt nod but his optics remained icy. 

Jazz spun and left the room, his frame, his spark still humming with rage. Prowl never talked about his creators, any questions Jazz ventured to ask had been either flipped back on him or the answers so generic he’d stopped asking. Not that he pushed too hard. Prowl was from the spark of Praxus and Jazz had always assumed the wound was still too raw for the quiet mech to talk about it. He was revaluating every fragging line of that right now. It clearly wasn’t a late in life rift between Prowl and Ortho. He hadn’t seen Young Prowl that quiet since his first day on ship.

The soft flutter of a rapid pulse against his spark guided him through the maze of halls until he reached Red Alert’s room.   
He didn’t realize he was staring at the door until it opened and Red Alert stood in front of him with Takara still in his arms. The sparkling didn’t give him his usual chipper greeting but clung tighter to Red Alert while narrowing his optics. “He knows you’re angry, Jazz, and he is not yet old enough to discern if the anger is directed at him or elsewhere.” Red Alert said without preamble. The words punctured his bubble of fury. 

“Nah, spark, I’m not mad at you,” Jazz whispered. He reached out through the bond to soothe the quiet sparkling and Takara’s wings relaxed and he stopped glaring. “Always ready for a fight, mechling,” Jazz asked, melancholy rushing in to fill the space left by anger. Reaching out to the sparkling, Takara stared him down once more for a long few seconds before he chirped and Red Alert held him out to Jazz. “No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna change you,” he promised, holding the little mech close to his spark.   
Red Alert stepped out of his room into the hall with Jazz. “I was on my way to get his energon and certainly everyone will feel better if they see you as yourself and not the Unmaker reincarnate stalking through the halls.” 

Jazz cringed a little and then nuzzled Takara’s head until the sparkling giggled and ducked his head away. “You didn’t see how many of those rust-cursed modifications that sadist did to him, Red,” Jazz said, cephalic fins flicking up. Takara’s tiny claws dug into his armor, finding familiar holds as they started walking. His wings spread and folded more comfortably on his back. Jazz ran a gentle hand over his wings and down a leg and tickled his small foot until he giggled again and lightning quick tried to grab his hand.   
Red Alert’s optics roamed over Takara’s small frame. “I can guess most of them,” he said softly. “Prowl has never moved with the ease of the other Praxians onboard, surely you’ve noticed that. His balance is more easily compromised when his wings are damaged and he doesn’t spar unless necessary because it leaves him in pain for orns.”   
“I always figured the sparring was from old injuries,” Jazz said, matching Red Alert’s soft tone. “I fall too hard on my left knee and I’m movin’ slower than Ironhide for an orn.” Jazz stopped walking before they left the quieter hall and hit a main artery. “Ratchet said they could’ve killed him. This isn’t just the coding glitchin’,” Jazz said offlining his optics and focusing on the small spark pulse against his both through the bond and through their physical contact. “They almost killed him. Prowl. Can ya’ imagine what our lives would be without him?” Optimus may well be the spark of the army, the pulse that kept them fighting, but Prowl was the energon flowing through them. Whether they thought about it or not, Prowl was in their lives every orn be it from selecting shift partners or planning battles. He was what kept them whole. 

“No,” Red Alert said softly. “And that is why Ortho is no longer in charge of his care.” Jazz onlined his optics and took a calming breath. Takara clicked softly in his arms, warm and comfortable. Red Alert gently brushed his blunt claws down Takara’s wings and the mechling made a soft purring sound. “From now on, his family will decide what is best for him.”

Jazz did feel better once he had some energon in him and Takara was twittering on his lap. His bright gold optics roamed over the dispensary as he clicked and chirped gibberish, probably looking for his next escape. Occasionally his chirps dissolved into soft purrs when Red Alert rubbed under his chin or along the side of his head. “Talks more than Bluestreak,” Jazz murmured with a smile. 

A rare full smile lit Red’s face. “I still have a few reports to file, the interruption this morning has me behind.” Red Alert stood once his cube was gone.

“Want me to bring him to you when I’m on?” Jazz asked. Takara reached for Red with a beseeching click. The security director picked him up and pressed their foreheads together.

“If you can,” he responded softly. “If not, I’ll come to you.” Takara climbed to Red Alert’s shoulder and perched with his wings partly spread for balance as he surveyed the dispensary. 

Jazz sighed, “I’m really not always that late.” Red didn’t say anything but the look he gave Jazz didn’t need words. “I’m not,” Jazz said indignantly. “An’ you better watch him, he’s about to jump,” he said pointing at Takara. Red Alert didn’t look concerned and in a smooth movement spun around the moment Takara leaped and caught the sparkling around the middle. 

Takara chirped in surprise and was back in Jazz’s lap before he figured out what happened. Jazz and the sparkling gave the security director matching looks of incredulity. A smile tugging the corner of his mouth, Red Alert said goodbye and left to finish his shift. 

Jazz lay back on the floor of the rec room a joor later while Takara amused himself by scaling Jazz’s small frame. Sticking a hand under his head he kept most of his attention on the sparkling clambering across his chest and some of it on the cheesy holovid the other mechs were watching. The twins had been the ones to change it from the energon, ‘facing, and violence vid to the campy special. It was a surprise to the mechs who had been watching the first vid, but now they were all equally engrossed in the new plot.   
Takara’s sharp claws dug into a seam in his shoulder as he tried to crawl down Jazz’s outstretched arm like a tightrope. Wincing, he guided Takara back to his chest and made a low hum that vibrated his frame. The sparkling chirped and giggled at the odd feeling until Jazz started laughing too.

“Primus, I don’t know which is worse, this vid or you two,” Blaster said, Sea Spray laughing next to him. Jazz realized no one was watching the holovid anymore but him and Takara. Jazz being flat on his back meant his hum had travelled through the metal floor like it did through water, catching their attention. Takara squeaked and twittered when he noticed the attention, those bright gold optics narrowed and sizing every one of them up.

Sideswipe responded in kind with a loud laugh at the end. Rolling off the couch—smacking his brother in the head in the process—he hit the floor and rattled off another string of gibberish. Takara’s head tilted to and fro while he listened, then he chirped back. Sideswipe’s crooked fanged smile promised mischief when he chirruped back. Takara hopped off Jazz and hissed, his small wings fluttering. 

“What’re you doin’, Sides?” Jazz asked with a trace of weariness. The red twin laughed and whistled back at Takara before rolling onto his side in a fit of laughter. Takara’s wings rose high over his shoulders and his back arched. With a sharp yip he charged the red twin hissing. “Ah, frag me, Takara!” Jazz rolled to his feet and tried to grab the wayward sparkling but he was already out of reach. Because of his large wings, Takara didn’t often walk bipedal and he was fast as a comet on his feet and hands. Takara was out of reach and halfway to Sideswipe before Jazz took two steps. 

Sideswipe’s laughter was cut short when Takara closed the distance between them and pounced on his head. “Ack! Sunny, get him off! Get him off!” Sideswipe covered his sensitive horns but didn’t try to throw the sparkling off him. Takara hissed and head-butted his arm, wings high and back arched. “Sunny, do something! H-he’s glitched,” Sideswipe sputtered. Whatever he said next was lost in Blaster’s guffawing laughter. 

“Don’t call me Sunny,” the yellow twin responded optics returning to the cheesy holovid. Takara stalked back and forth in front of Sideswipe still hissing and diving for any holes in the red twin’s defense. Sideswipe moved one arm enough he could peek out at the sparkling and made an obnoxious noise. Takara dropped down into a low crouch and sprang on him again with a high whistle. Sideswipe shrieked and laughed as the sparkling nipped his fingers and dug his tiny claws into his thick armor. 

“Sides, what are ya—Takara! Will ya’ stop? Primus.” Jazz tried to grab his sweet sparkling turned Unmaker but Takara jumped out of his reach again and bit one of Sideswipe’s hip struts. The red twin squealed and laughed. Takara’s claws dug in and he climbed over the twin still hissing and squeaking ferociously.

“Ow! He’s biting my back,” Sideswipe yelped. “That’s playing dirty, glitch.” He twittered and chirped while Takara hissed and yipped. “Ow ow ow! He’s got his claws in my neck, Primus, you’re a vicious little thing!” He tried to cover his neck more with his hands but as soon as he moved Takara bit his finger setting off a round of cursing.  
Jazz made another grab for Takara as he nipped the twin’s spinal relay and shoulders, but the sparkling saw him coming and hopped over to Sideswipe’s front and dove at his face. Sideswipe shrieked and rolled into Jazz trying to get away and sent Jazz to the floor. “Will ya’ stop movin’,” he snapped. 

“He’s not hurt,” Sunstreaker said with an implied optic roll.

Jazz shot a dark look at the shining yellow twin. “I’m not worried about your frontliner brother, Sunstreaker.”

  
Sunstreaker rolled his head to the side and said something in the same sparkling gibberish Sideswipe had used to start the whole mess. Takara left off his attack of the red twin, panting, and instead turned his narrowed optics on the yellow twin. Sunstreaker glared right back.

“Sunny,” Blaster warned, watching the two. 

Jazz lunged for the sparkling while he was distracted, but apparently Prowl was sparked a twitchy mech and he hopped out of reach. Baring his tiny fangs, Takara crouched and leapt up onto the couch with another startling burst of speed. Sunstreaker wasn’t caught off guard like his brother, though, and met the sparkling’s ferocious charge with a fanged grin and held up his clawed hand. Takara tackled his hand and bit down on his wrist with a feral growl. Sunstreaker laughed and swore when Takara’s small claws and teeth got into the grooves of his armor but he didn’t try to throw the sparkling off. 

Picking himself up off the floor, Jazz watched Takara fight Sunstreaker’s hand while the twin laughed. Sunstreaker growled and Jazz fought every bit of his conditioning to turn around and put the twin in a headlock. There was no heat to the sound. He was just goading Takara even more. Blaster and the other two mechs were tensed and ready to spring, but when Jazz didn’t react to the sound, slowly began to relax. Sunstreaker seemed to have forgotten anyone else was in the room as he and the sparkling found a structure to their game. Sunstreaker used only one hand to block Takara’s attacks, anticipating and foiling each attempt the sparkling made to jump on his lap. Takara’s reckless charges became calculated and the lethal focus on his tiny face was the same expression Jazz saw in war rooms. 

Cautiously uncurling one finger at a time, Sideswipe stayed on his side still giggling at random. “Ah, c’mon Jazz, he’s not hurt.” Jazz folded his arms and the red twin sat up investigating the small scratches Takara had inflicted on his paint. “I was just havin’ some fun with him. It’s a game me an’ Sunny used to play. It was just a little trash talkin’, nothing bad, promise.” He waved a hand at Sunstreaker and Takara involved in their own game. The red twin blinked and watched the two, his mirth transforming to confusion. “Y’know, he looks a lot like Prowl,” he said.

“Sides, just because he’s a Praxian doesn’t mean he looks like Prowl; that’s framist,” Sea Spray said with a frown.

Sunstreaker cocked his head to the side and grinned when he almost missed Takara’s charge, falling for the feint the sparkling had made. “He does though, look at his face. Prowl makes that face a lot.” 

“Prowl will be back soon enough and we’ll compare notes,” Jazz said, spark thundering in his chest. Of course the two glitches would be the ones to fragging notice. Takara was starting to wear down, his wings not held as high and he was panting hard. He tried one last charge that Sunstreaker easily blocked and then the sparkling sat down in Sideswipe’s spot. 

“That was fun, you’re pretty good,” Sunstreaker said with a truly happy grin on his face. 

Blaster and the others slowly sat back. “What exactly was all that?” Blaster asked with a raised optic ridge. 

Sunstreaker investigated the scratches and teeth marks on his hand. “Defend your ground. It’s easier when everyone’s the same size.” He reached back and swatted his brother’s head when the red twin stood. Sideswipe bared his teeth but didn’t retaliate. Takara watched Sideswipe get to his feet and left the empty spot in favor of sitting on Sunstreaker’s lap. The surprise on Sunstreaker’s face was too fleeting for Jazz to get a good picture, but he did get one of the delighted smile that followed.

Sideswipe took his seat back, but when he tried to lean against his brother Takara nipped his arm, baring his teeth. Sunstreaker’s happy smile turned to a devilish grin when he looked at his brother. 

“Hey, no, he’s my brother, you can’t have him,” the red twin said with a glower. Takara flared his wings and snapped his teeth. 

“Tough break,” Sunstreaker said flashing his own fangs. While Sideswipe glared at his brother, Takara found a more comfortable place on Sunstreaker’s lap and curled up in his wings. Sunstreaker’s heavily scarred and clawed hand hesitantly stroked Takara’s back. The sparkling didn’t try to bite or fight him off so he did it again with more confidence. Sideswipe continued to pout but was scooting closer to his brother a tiny bit at a time. 

Jazz’s alarm for his shift went off. Takara clicked quietly in Sunstreaker’s lap; through their spark bond he could feel the sparkling’s spark pulse beginning to slow as he dropped into recharge. Sideswipe—twice as hesitant as his brother—reached out and also gave Takara’s back a gentle pat.

“I gotta go, I’ll let Red know he’s here.” The words were out of his mouth before Jazz really processed what he was saying. Blaster turned his entire frame to look at him. Sea Spray looked like he had to do a full system reboot. The Twins looked up with matching expressions of joy. Young. They were so young. Jazz’s spark twinged when he thought of all the times he’d reprimanded them as if they were adults like Sea Spray or Arcee. He had to give them a chance like he would Bumblebee or First Aid or Bluestreak.   
Takara was safe with the twins. Others might be in perpetual danger, but the sparkling was safe. With a shrug to Blaster he stretched his back strut and sent a message to Red Alert letting him know where Takara was recharging.


	5. Protect

“How long we at this base?” Jazz asked Ironhide as the docks came into view. He never thought he’d see the orn he’d miss one of Prowl’s memos, but while he’d always been aware of how much he relied on the SIC in the field, he was beginning to appreciate how much Prowl did to make life easier for everyone orn-to-orn. He itched to hold Takara, but the sparkling was with Ratchet and Wheeljack for another diagnostic.

Ironhide shrugged a massive shoulder. “Prowl has us scheduled for four orns. Might be longer without him here to keep everyone on task.” He made an irritated sound but no matter how much he huffed and puffed, they needed to resupply before heading out into the void once more. Usually Jazz liked shore leave, lighter duties and solid ground beneath his feet, not to mention catching up with mechs he hadn’t seen in vorns. But his coding wasn’t as thrilled about the hundreds of new mechs on an unfamiliar moon in an unfamiliar base.

He and Red Alert had decided Takara would be kept on ship as much as possible. Not only—as Ratchet had pointed out—were his firewalls unaccustomed to the base’s resident viruses, but this was a busy base on the fringe of the populated galaxy. The mechs and femmes residing there could have their own viruses they weren’t even aware of carrying. And then there were the massive feet and heavy bodies always going to and from places. If Takara got under foot his injuries would be severe. A pensive silence fell between Jazz and Ironhide as _The_ _Ark_ made its final descent to the crowded base.

Flexing his hands, Jazz rubbed his optic ridge as the hundreds of personnel running the base became individuals instead of a coordinated mass of bodies. “This is gonna be a fraggin’ long septorn,” he muttered. Before Ironhide could do more than grunt his agreement, an emergency message from Ratchet chimed in his HUD. He was on his way to the med bay before he even read the text. _Officer meeting, med bay. Now_. Reaching out to Takara his spark pulse slowed when he felt only drowsy irritation. He was working past his understandable fear of medics and the med bay, but he still wasn’t pleased with his regular checkups.

All other medical personnel had been briefed on Prowl’s history of surgeries and somehow young medics like First Aid and Staghorn were even softer and quieter with the mechling. Ratchet was too old and jaded to ever soften completely, but he had to be doing something because Takara no longer tried to slash him or bite his fingers. He still grumbled and flashed his fangs but Jazz and Red Alert could leave him with the medic now without the sparkling having a meltdown.

Ironhide’s heavy steps thundered behind him. “Sparkling okay?” the gruff mech asked. The big mech still tried to hide it, but they’d all figured out he was on the extreme end of the core coding. The deadly whine coming from his canons _and_ that he was keeping up with Jazz was all the proof anyone needed.

Jazz nodded. “It’s past his nap time, but he’s not scared or hurt.” If Ratchet just wanted to go over the virus protocols with them again, Jazz was going to feed the medic his wrench.

Red Alert and Blaster were already in the med bay when Ironhide and Jazz flew into the room. In Red Alert’s arms, Takara was doing his best to get into a nap and glared at Jazz and Ironhide when they came in too loud. Jazz might’ve laughed but his spark was still pulsing too fast from Ratchet’s terse message.

Wheeljack paced circles around a med berth, bioluminescent lines flashing almost white with anxiety. Optimus was the last to arrive and once he was in the med bay doors closed and locked with a loud click that had Jazz looking for other exit options.

“Well, that’s not a terrifying sound,” Blaster said conversationally. “I can’t believe so many mechs are afraid of med bays.”

“Mute it,” Ratchet snapped. “There’s a problem with Takara.” Every sensor Jazz had focused on the sparkling in Red Alert’s arms. Red’s optics snapped to Ratchet. Blaster edged a little closer to Optimus when his optics flashed cold blue. Ironhide’s canons powered all the way up. Takara woke up at the loud whine and glowered at the big mech; fearless as ever.

Ratchet grabbed Wheeljack and pulled him out of his pacing cycle. “Well, my initial concern with the reversal of Prowl’s age was that his adult memories might have been erased, but after Ratchet and I both had a chance to examine him we found a portion of his processor with hyper-compressed files and concluded that he still had all of his memories, he just couldn’t access them.” The engineer took a breath.

“The files are beginning to show signs of instability,” Ratchet finished. “If they become accessible to the rest of Prowl’s young processor the amount of information could cause a complete collapse of all his processor functions. He could die.”

Jazz felt a growl building in his chest and did his best to keep it there. Red Alert’s optics flashed again and his arm tightened around Takara’s small body. Blaster moved completely behind Optimus. “So you called me down here for what? Glitch my coding?” Jazz snapped doing his best to hold back the screaming tide of _ProtectProtectProtectProtect_! Ironhide’s angry rumble backed his words.

“If this instability gets worse I will have to put him in a stasis lock until Wheeljack works this mess out,” Ratchet growled back. “Any abnormal behaviors, mood swings, lethargy, unexplained pain and you get his aft to this med bay.” Jazz rubbed his face with both hands trying to wrangle himself.

“Unlock the door, Ratchet,” Red Alert said. “I don’t like being locked in rooms I don’t know the codes for and this news is not doing my glitch any favors.” He slid off the med berth with Takara. “One of us will have to be with him at all times now,” he said with a frown. “That could change how the duties are structured this septorn.” He held the recharging sparkling out to Jazz. “I’ll feel better when the door is open,” he said when Jazz hesitated. That was all the coaxing Jazz needed. Takara snuggled against him with a soft squeak and his coding shut down. Sparkling was fine, mostly. He was safe at least. If he needed medical attention Jazz would get him to the med bay, until then, he was safe with him.

“Unhappy as he may be, he might be spending more time in here,” Ratchet said as the door clicked again. “One of us will always be here while we resupply. If you can’t change your schedules on short notice bring him down.”

“I have several meetings each orn, I’ll send over my schedule,” the Prime said.

“You’ll still be on base most of the time,” Ironhide pointed out, canons still powered up. “Not to mention how often impromptu meetings come up. No guarantee how long you’ll be in one place.” Optimus frowned and Ironhide rolled his optics, readying to volley any arguments the Prime could come up with.

“He’s right, Optimus,” Jazz said to save everyone time. “You need to be available while we’re docked. Mechs and femmes need to see you.”

Optimus still looked ready to argue, but kept his response diplomatic. “We’ll figure something out.” Jazz and Ironhide both rolled their optics. Prowl was the only one who could get anything through to him when he decided to be stubborn. They’d be fighting this battle the whole time they were docked. Ironhide turned and left the room and Optimus followed, brow furrowed in thought. Jazz gave it a joor before he was being contacted about possible times for the Prime to have Takara.

Blaster’s chest plates slid apart and Steeljaw jumped out. “We don’t have much to do,” he said, stretching his arms over his head the same time Steeljaw stretched his forelegs out and arched his back in a languid stretch. Blaster grinned down at his symbiont. “An’ the lil’ mech loves Steeljaw.” Steeljaw grinned and shook himself, his mane snapping with electricity. Takara and Steeljaw had discovered a mutual love of popping out around corners and scaring the Pit and Primus out of mechs. “Eject might really go space glitchy if he doesn’t stretch his wings a bit, but I can be on call.” Said hawk was currently in the rafters watching them.

Red Alert sighed softly and rolled his shoulders. “We should be docking within the joor, I need to synchronize security systems,” he said softly to Jazz. “Once that’s done we can look over the schedule again and find the holes.”

“Got ‘em,” Jazz answered looking down at Takara’s peaceful face. “How curious do you think he’ll be about this base?” He wasn’t necessarily hoping Takara would be afraid of the unfamiliar mechs, but it would be easier to keep track of him if he was glued to Jazz’s side as he had been his first orns on _The_ _Ark_.

Red Alert gave him a wry smile. “You still have your quarters locked from the inside, don’t you?” Jazz made a pained sound and with an unsympathetic snort, Red Alert left for the security room. Wheeljack followed him out, bioluminescent lines flickering between white and orange.

Blaster left the med bay with Jazz. Steeljaw galloped ahead of them while Eject perched on Blaster’s shoulder like Takara liked to do with Jazz and Red Alert. Jazz sighed with a touch of irritation. “How much you think I’d have to pay Hound to be my personal sparkling tracker?” he asked, not sure himself if it was a joke. A shudder ran through the ship as the docking sequence initiated. “Frag me,” he muttered. “Longest septorn of my life starts in half a joor.” Blaster covered his laugh so he wouldn’t wake Takara.

Jazz loved gossip. Lived for it. It was his job to know everything that was going on everywhere at any time. And there was no better gossip factory than the Autobot army.

Waltzing into the base rec room the next orn he immediately picked out the pockets of mechs and femmes swapping information and rumors. He saw a few of his ilk glance at him sidelong, judging, waiting to see if he’d be approachable enough to confirm, deny, or no comment the plethora of things they’d heard. With Takara safely tucked away with the Prime for the morning, he could be the Jazzmech _The Ark_ crew knew and loved. And he could get a feel for how far gossip on the ship had spread and what it had become.

Grinning he reached up and put an arm around Blaster’s shoulders. “My mechs,” he said gesturing at the loud room. Blaster laughed and ducked out from under his arm.

“There’s already enough rumors about us, don’t need you adding more,” he snickered. Jazz gave him a coy smile and winked. The other mech laughed harder. “Stop it, you glitch!”

“Come on mah bangin’ mech, you like music. I like music, we’re a perfect match.”

“I like a mech who can sing,” Blaster shot back.

“I can make you sing, that good enough?”

“Not been on base an orn an’ you two’re already back to first vorns,” Ironhide grouched pushing past them. Optimus didn’t follow the big mech—probably why he was cranky. While _The Ark_ crew knew Ironhide to be Optimus’ shadow as a matter of fact, mechs from outside the ship often took exception to Ironhide’s presence; not knowing or not seeing the centicycles of friendship and hardship that bonded the two and seeing only Ironhide as a guard. It ate away at senior officers’ confidence and rankled fins, so every now and then Optimus met with leaders without Ironhide and the big mech spent a few joors reinforcing his reputation as a no-fun hard aft ready to wallop any mech who looked at him wrong.

Blaster and Jazz continued giggling like first vorns and followed the cranky black mech into the room. The big mech parted the crowd like a predator through fish and Jazz saw the whispers and pings zip around the room; confirmations, denials, and no shortage of awe. Whether he liked it or not, Ironhide was _always_ a good subject for gossip.

Jazz and Blaster didn’t make as many waves as the big mech, but once his wrathful presence was away the furtive looks and whispers turned back to them. Jazz sent Blaster a short countdown clock as soon as they sat down and the symbiotic mech worked hard to keep his laugh contained.

He heard the footsteps when the timer was at three clicks. The three mechs sat down as soon as the countdown hit zero. Blaster almost spit out his energon. Jazz grinned at the mech and two femmes while Blaster put his head down and lost himself in laughter. They weren’t the usual assortment that approached first. The mech and the dark blue femme were definitely frontliners, the hard edge to their optics, the unconscious way they sat straight in their chairs, like they were waiting for an inspection. The other femme, vorns younger, Jazz couldn’t place. She didn’t strike him as a frontliner, possibly a scout. There was a softness to her features, uncertainty in the way she glanced between Jazz and Blaster. “What can ‘ah do for a mech?” Jazz grinned, it was second nature to catalogue weapons, a byproduct of his job. The frontliners had their standard issue blasters and the femme had a few extra knives stashed. The mech didn’t have anything extra and moved with a bruiser’s grace. Interestingly, the young femme didn’t move like she had weapons or much training.

The three gave Blaster a sidelong glance but it was the bruiser, gunmetal grey and dark orange, that addressed Jazz. “XOPs, yeah?” He looked over Jazz’s relaxed body draped over his chair like a blanket and at Blaster still giggling. The XOPs predator that Jazz had learned to live with lifted its head in interest. These weren’t the usual gossipers. Jazz’s mechs, they sweet talked and nudged and nodded and bribed. There was an art to gossip, to the give and take of information and verification. This was too blunt. Their optics too hard.

Interesting.

Jazz pointed to Blaster, keeping his body relaxed in the chair. “He’s a medical experiment gone wrong.” Blaster lifted his head and swatted Jazz’s shoulder. “Me, depends on what ya’ heard.” He gave the mech a toothy smile, not entirely friendly. Blaster grinned as well, looking very much like Steeljaw just before he sank his teeth into a mech’s throat. The lion and hawk were out there somewhere, having bolted from Blaster as soon as they were through the airlock. The three didn’t come across as an immediate threat, but until Jazz knew what exactly they were looking for he would treat them as one.

The mech pulled back a little, his optics sharper and appraised him again. “Weirdest thing we heard a septorn ago, someone said a sparkling was running around on _The_ _Ark_.” His voice didn’t have the clipped edge anymore, but the cadence was stilted. He was trying to back track, trying to sound like they were exchanging outrageous rumors. The predator flexed its claws.

 _Very_ interesting.

Jazz slowly rolled his head to the side and gave Blaster a pointed look.

“Don’t even, the twin terrors are worse than me,” Blaster said crossing his arms. His optics flashed, playful smile underscored by a feral gleam in his cold blue optics. Blaster wasn’t one of his field mechs, but it was to Prowl’s credit that he’d seen the fledgling predator in Blaster and given it a home in communications. It made Jazz’s spark warm with pride any time the mech let that razor’s edge shine. The trio, uninitiated in the ways of gossip, were about to get fleeced. “And actually, so are you. If I’m remembering that impact foam prank right.” Blaster cocked an optic ridge and Jazz started laughing as Blaster continued. “And the sticky string…and redecorating Ironhide’s office and changing Ratchet’s morning alarm to some weird animal’s mating call. And there was the time you dropped from the ceiling and about sent Cliffjumper back to the Matrix. You know what? The twins get a bad rap. You’re the worst.”

“We heard it was an actual seekerling,” the mech said, trying for a smile but his optics were too direct, voice too hard.

Specific. Too specific for gossip. Anyone could hear a rumor about a sparkling, but _seekerling_? The mech wasn’t looking for info, he was looking to verify it. The shine in Blaster’s optics not many would notice, but he and Jazz spent about every joor together—hence the ‘facing rumors—and knew the mech was dispatching his symbionts to track down the source of this mech’s info. While all that was happening he said, “Silverbolt swooped down on Moonracer last kel, didn’t he?”

Jazz didn’t fake his laugh, he never had to when it was him and Blaster. Silverbolt had in fact swooped down on Moonracer in the hangar last kel and then spent the rest of the septorn hiding from the sniper. It had ended with Prowl putting them both on cleaning duties for another septorn after Moonracer cornered the seeker and repainted his wings with paintballs. She had, unfortunately, walked into his expertly laid trap and been doused in paint herself. The lower deck still had faint splashes of colors on the walls and floors.

Deep space boredom was a different kind of boredom.

“What’d you do with impact foam?” the small gold and red femme asked with a shy smile. She leaned forward a little more and Jazz caught the faint stenciling on her upper arm that had been hidden in the play of light and shadows on her armor. Medical apprentice. That put all the pieces together in a neat picture, he grinned at her without the sharpness he’d used with the older two. The other dark blue femme also looked interested, but still had an edge to her. More lenient of the little femme’s innocent curiosity. Jazz liked her more for that. Medical apprentices were both tough as nails and delicate as new blooms. The mech looked like he was ready to ignore the young femme’s question and plow ahead with his own. Jazz liked him even less.

Blaster held up his hand when Jazz started to tell the story claiming there was no way he was going to tell it right. The young femme smiled, genuine delight in her optics and the older femme sat back more, posture resigned. She was the one to keep an optic on. She was patient. She watched him and Blaster with sharp optics, was probably adept at ferreting information out of other frontliners with the careful way she watched mechs. But Blaster was lightyears ahead of her and Jazz might as well be a different species.

The four fell into laughter and conversation as Blaster and Jazz argued over the finer points of what _actually_ happened. But Jazz’s attention stayed on the older mechs who watched them too close with gemstone hard optics.

“Damn,” Jazz breathed when they were back onboard _The_ _Ark_ joors later. “I knew word would slip out, but that fast?” He shook his head. “Someone must’ve let it slip after a lil’ too much high grade.” And it wasn’t just the first set of mechs they’d spoken to that morning. The entire base had heard about _The Ark_ ’s newest addition. It was only the initial trio that had been specific enough to say _seekerling_. The predator in Jazz was ready to tear through all their files and run their source to the ground.

Blaster’s optics glowed pale blue, the same color they’d been since they’d left the base dispensary. Eject perched on his shoulder preening a wing while Steeljaw trotted at his side, both their optics the same sky blue as his. “I swear I had every fragging keyword that could even remotely resemble ‘sparkling’ flagged, I don’t know how it got out.”

Jazz gently nudged his arm so he wouldn’t disturb Eject. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that good gossip always finds a way.” Blaster snorted but his optics continued to glow as he sifted through terabytes of data. “I gotta get the lil’ glitch, if he hasn’t given Red the slip.” His suffering sigh made Blaster cackle.

Jazz made it to the security room only five breems late, which was right on time for him. He paged Red Alert instead of knocking on the door out of long habit. Startling the security director with a knock was the easiest way to set off a minor glitch, though those had been infrequent over the last septorns.

Usually the door slid open before the ping even went through but this time there was a marked hesitation that made Jazz frown a fraction. The door slid open but Red wasn’t standing at the door with Takara on his hip, he was still sitting at his console staring at the screens with Takara held tight against his chest. “Red?” Jazz asked cautiously. His thoughts about Red Alert not glitching must have jinxed it. No sparks snapped between his horns though and after a second Jazz took a cautious step into the room. He didn’t linger in the doorway but moved off to the side so Red Alert wouldn’t feel trapped or cornered. “Red, mech, you okay?”

“I’m…fine, Jazz. Just…lot of mechs.” Red Alert sat back from the console and loosened his hold on Prowl but didn’t make a move to let the sparkling go. Takara fluffed his wings and chirped at Red Alert with a tiny frown. Red Alert’s gentle hands stroked Takara’s wings. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. Taking a deep breath, he finally got up from his chair. “But I’m working far past your recharge time tonight. You’ll be with Jazz.” He was looking at Takara while he spoke, but it seemed he was trying to convince himself to let the sparkling go.

“Red,” Jazz started to say.

The security director shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he said firmly and without hesitation handed Takara to Jazz. Takara clicked at him but snuggled against Jazz’s warm chest. “He’ll be fine,” Red Alert said. His optics flashed a shade brighter and he shook himself hard. “Wheeljack has low grade for him,” he said in a mostly normal voice.

“Red Alert, if you need a couple breems jus’ tell me. I’m not leavin’ until I know you won’t sit here all night panicking.” Jazz gave the security director a critical look over. He wasn’t showing the usual outward signs of glitching. If Red had walked past him in the hall he wouldn’t know anything was off, but the odd halting cadence he used when he spoke sounded like he was holding off a full blown episode.

Red Alert vented hard once and gave Jazz a shaky but not frightened smile. “Thank you, Jazz, but I think—I will be all right.” Jazz gave him a skeptical look and Red Alert’s small smile widened. “I’ve already told Ratchet I might have some problems tonight. I have a check-in schedule and a replacement lined up in case I need to take a joor off.” Jazz finally relaxed and hefted Takara a little higher in his arms.

“You need me, I’ll be here,” he told Red Alert while messaging Ratchet to confirm the security director was in contact with him. It might have been Red Alert’s paranoia catching, but with his job, he didn’t take anyone’s word for anything. Ratchet messaged him back a curt affirmative and he walked out of the security room feeling better about leaving Red Alert alone on his shift. Ratchet was not afraid to take a blowtorch to the security room door if Red Alert didn’t follow his protocols exactly, had done so before.

After the door slid shut behind Jazz, Red Alert slowly walked back to his chair and sat down. He’d gotten the base roster kels ago when Prowl originally scheduled the stop and he’d thought he was prepared. Maybe if this hiccup with Prowl hadn’t happened he would’ve been prepared. His optics flickered across the screens again. He’d filtered in the base feeds as well. Not necessary and he’d close his access before the next shift started, but he’d had to find him. Hands beginning to shake again he hugged himself since Takara was gone.

No. Not gone.

Takara was with Jazz getting his evening ration and likely plotting his next escape from the saboteur. _He was not gone_.

On the screens a flash of color caught his optic. Gunmetal gray and burnt orange. Not the most exotic colors, but as far as Red Alert was concerned there were no other mechs with that coloring. Red Alert’s spark throbbed, slow shockwaves of pain spreading out with each pulse, like a wound slow to heal. He watched the mech move through the halls, the slight limp on his left side gave him a unique gait. Even without color Red Alert would know him. Squeezing his optics shut he hugged himself tighter.

Right on time, a ping from Ratchet came through. He sent a response and a second later his comm lit up. _So help me, if you try to send through a pingback instead of a response I’ll be down there in half a breem to drag your aft outta that room._ Red Alert opened his optics, a rough laugh tumbling out. Unclamping one hand to reach out and shut down the base feed he used the other to wipe away the tracks of fluid on his face. _I’m sorry, Ratchet,_ he answered, the pain in his spark no less, but no greater. _It was an automatic response, I won’t do it again._ A low growl was the medic’s response before he closed the link.

Sitting back in his chair he stared at the screens not really watching them but reaching out to the small flutter in his spark that was Takara. Happy. Safe. Definitely looking for trouble. He laughed again and more fluid blurred his optics. Takara reached for him, concern shadowing his happiness. Another pang went through Red Alert’s spark. He wouldn’t steal Takara’s happiness. He couldn’t hide the dull pain in his spark from the sparkling, but he could filter out the sorrow. Takara was too young to pick up on the nuance in their bond and in a few breems he was distracted again with whatever he was doing. Probably sending Jazz into a glitch fit if the sparkling’s effervescent joy was anything to go by.

Taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds, Red Alert wiped his face again. He didn’t have to go to the base. He almost never did, not unless he was with Prowl. He didn’t have to watch the base feed, that’s why the base had its own security. There was no reason he had to see the mech. They could continue existing without overlap. He would take care of his ship and his crew and Takara.

Red Alert came to a stop several steps from his door after a long night shift and stared at the gunmetal gray and burnt orange mech. His spark still pulsed with pain as he stared at the mech. He had spent the night talking himself out of accessing the base feeds again. He was regretting that now. He might’ve been able to make a detour to the med bay long enough for the mech to get bored. Patience had never been one of his strengths.

“Where did you get the sparkling?” Icy words washed over his audios and a sharp lance of pain went through him once more. The hard set face had more scars but it was still as familiar to him as his own. He remembered kinder words, could feel the phantom of them whispering in his spark. But they were gone. Had been gone for a long time. A sharp pain in his processor, a flash of heat across his exoform. Grinding his teeth together he lowered his chin. He’d spent the night with Ratchet fighting this glitch. The medic was likely in his berth already and the younger medics scheduled for the morning weren’t experienced enough to get him through an episode.

“You are not cleared to be on this ship, Talon” he said instead of answering the mech’s question. He could handle this. He had survived worse. So much worse. Another jolt of pain in his processor. He walked up to his door, horns still lowered in a threat. There was a time so long ago it felt like a dream, he would have cut out his own spark than threaten Talon. The pain in his spark as familiar to him as Talon’s voice stretched out across the tattered remnants of what had been a sparkbond.

Talon’s long fingers tapped in the code to Red Alert’s door. He felt a snap of static under his plates and kept his breathing even through force. He knew his horns had to be sparking, the most obvious tell when his glitch got out of control.

“You still use his sparkday,” Talon said as the door slid open. Red Alert told his numb legs to move, his body feeling far away, but the pain in his spark each time it pulsed was all too close. Talon grabbed him roughly by the arm and shoved him inside. It felt like his mind was half a step behind his body, as if he was in danger of being shut in the hall.

But no. Once inside the door slid shut and locked with him still somehow with his body. A desk lamp he kept on a timer dimly lit the room. Shadows. There were other shadows in the room. A static charge snapped between his horns flickering like lightning across Talon’s face. Talon kept a hard grip on his arm, fingers digging into his plates. He could remember gentle touches, kind words. His spark clenched hard, the unconscious reach for Talon coming up against jagged, broken pieces of what had once been his eternity.

He didn’t have time for pain anymore. Not when there was a war. Not when there were mechs he had to keep safe. A sparkling he had to _keep safe._ He could feel reasoning slipping away from him. He needed to call Ratchet. He had been _fine_ until Talon decided to find him. It had been centicycles since he last saw the mech and now, _now_ , he decided to show up demanding answers about another sparkling

Anger.

He didn’t remember telling his body to move. But between one breath and the next he was moving. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t feel his fist slam into Talon’s face. He knew he was too hot, knew his spark was pulsing too fast, knew there was lightning arcing between his horns.

Talon shook the blow off, his angry flashing optics landed behind Red Alert. “You kept them,” Talon whispered. Pain, disbelief, _anger_. Paranoia screamed that someone was behind him, he remembered the shadows he’d seen when Talon pulled him into the room.

But no, he remembered Takara had been playing with the blocks on the berth before he’d left for his shift. Red Alert snorted the pent up hot air in his system, his breath fogging the air in front of him. Talon made to step around him, as if he was going to go to the berth and get the blocks. The blocks, the only things that had survived had been his joy and his agony for centicycles. Talon didn’t get any more of his pain. The blocks were his. Red Alert lowered his head and slammed his horns against Talon’s chest. It was a blunt block, the knife-like points not even scratching the mech’s armor. Despite everything. Despite the pain, despite the anger; he couldn’t hurt Talon like that.

Talon hit the door with a strut rattling thud and slid to the floor trying to restart his intakes. Red Alert reached for the keypad to unlock the door and got two of the three numbers in before Talon found his breath and shot to his feet, knocking Red Alert aside. Red Alert whirled around bringing his horns to bear, but Talon was already gone, moving with deceptive swiftness to his back. One hand closed around his throat and the other grabbed the base of a horn, jerking his head back. Pain, sudden and bright lit up his body, reminding him that it was real. “You kept them. They should’ve been buried with him and you fragging kept them.” Talon slammed his head against the door, his right horn taking the brunt of the impact. Unphased by the brutal hit, he kicked back and caught one of Talon’s legs, sending him to the floor again. They may have sparred when they were young, but Red Alert had bloodied his horns on battlefields since then. He knew his frame’s weaknesses and had learned to mitigate them.

Shadows.

Agony ripped through him, his shriek of pain was cut off when Talon grabbed him by the throat again.

A hack. Someone was trying to hack into his neural net. The hack flowed around the firewalls he put up like they didn’t exist. Auxiliary fans kicked on trying to cool his overheated frame. Lightning flashed across Talon’s face as his horns sparked. “Where’s the sparkling, Red?” Talon grabbed him by his horn and wrenched his head up again sending bolts of pain down his spinal strut. The hack burned through his neural net like liquid fire. He couldn’t stop it. They were after Takara. They were after his sparkling. He had to keep the sparkling safe. He had to protect.

Red Alert kicked out again, but Talon had learned his lesson and swept Red Alert’s legs out from under him. The hard fall to the floor didn’t disorient him as it would a different frametype, his body was built to take strut-crushing impacts. On the floor he had the advantage of being able to kick with both feet and slash whoever was behind him with his horns. The hack made it to his relay system and his body spasmed as he tried to kick. The move lacked power and Talon kneeled down to grab his horns again, pinning him to the ground.

He couldn’t move. They wanted to take the sparkling. They were going to hurt the sparkling. He had to protect. _ProtectProtectProtectProtect_

A spark in the darkness, a crackle of light that didn’t come from him.

“You had your chance, Red,” Talon hissed. Red Alert tried to throw him off, the hack halted the motion and he keened as the fire burned through his processor. “Where did you get him? Who the frag did you take him from?” Intakes beginning to stutter, Red Alert gasped trying to cool his frame. Between the hack and the glitch his temperature was in the red zone. “You won’t do this again.” Talon let go of his neck, but he couldn’t move. “You’re not hurting anyone else’s sparkling.” He saw the spark again, a second before he recognized the stun baton. The pulse of energy hit his overtaxed systems. He didn’t have the breath to scream before the pain dropped him into emergency reboot.

Base coding, systems geared only for survival kicked him back online. His scream was muffled. Heaving, twitching, he thrashed like a dying animal until heavy hands held him down hard enough to dent. It felt like fire was pouring over his spark. He screamed again against the gag. Dark shapes surrounded him optic systems still offline he could only see light and dark contrast. A hand wrapped around his neck, crushing him against the floor but it couldn’t stop the chaotic twitching of his limbs. His body bucked uncontrollably as the fire continued to burn through his spark. Coding screamed for him to get away.

Sparkling.

He had to protect the sparkling. He had to protect.

_ProtectProtectProtectProtect_

He couldn’t breathe, the pain ripping through him stalled his intakes. A spark in the dark was the last thing he saw before agony whited out his vision and he fell into darkness.

Takara jerked awake with wide optics and intakes heaving. Jazz jumped a little, not expecting the sudden wake up or the deluge of terror coming across their spark bond. “Easy, spark, easy. Just a bad dream.” Sitting up from his reclining position he pulled Takara further up his chest and cradled him. He’d been halfway to recharge himself listening to the sparkling’s soft intakes as he napped in his favorite inconvenient spot; the middle of Jazz’s lap. It was prime napping ground especially when he had to do something or be somewhere. And Jazz was already two orns behind on filing reports. After the run around the little glitch had given him the night before, he’d been hoping Takara would be out for a couple more joors.

Takara didn’t calm after he was awake, it seemed like the more awake he became the worse his fear. Coolant tears overflowed his optics and a loud cry blasted Jazz’s audios. The spark pounding fear he was getting from his sparkling though was what really glitched him. Coding roared to life. His sparkling was scared. Unacceptable. “Spark, what’s wrong?” he asked while Takara continued to cry. He couldn’t tear the threat apart a piece at a time if he didn’t know what was wrong. Wrapping the crying sparkling in a more secure embrace he pressed their foreheads together. Takara’s teary optics tore through Jazz’s spark. “Takara…Prowl, spark, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded.

Takara hiccupped as he cried, nothing Jazz said or did making the slightest impact. After five breems he couldn’t take the sparkling’s terror anymore. “Time for reinforcements,” he murmured, pacing the room slowly hoping he could lull the sparkling back to recharge. He pinged Red Alert and it bounced back. Flinching in surprise he stopped pacing and tried the emergency line. Again, the message bounced back unreceived. “What the…?” Red Alert was off shift, if he was working late he would have let Jazz know. There was no way he’d shut down his communications without telling him first. Takara was supposed to go to him at mid-orn. Optics narrowing in worry, he pinged Ratchet and that also went unanswered. Takara keened against his shoulder, wings folded tight around him, coolant tears seeping through the seams of Jazz’s armor. Baring his teeth, unable to throttle back his coding he tried a third line.

Blaster’s answer was almost immediate and that soothed some of Jazz’s ferocity. _Where you at, mech? I need you to stay with Takara for a breem. I can’t get ahold of Red_

_With the Twins, you said he was walkin’ the line last night, you talk to Ratch?_

_No answer_. Jazz glanced at his chronometer and winced. He was probably in recharge after staying up all night with Red. Sometimes he sincerely forgot the CMO had to recharge. _He was up all night with Red, he might be down for another joor or two._

 _Be there in thirty_.

Jazz resumed his pacing, but now it was more to calm himself than Takara. The sparkling hiccupped with exhaustion but his optics still flashed white with fear every few seconds and the tears started all over again.

It felt like half the orn passed before Blaster was at the door, Twins right behind him. Jazz didn’t argue with it, the Twins had been exemplar in their handling of Takara so far and Blaster had been given Sparkling 101 by the medics.

Sunstreaker immediately reached for the sparkling with a soft rumbling sound that wasn’t his usual growl and was almost…soothing.

“What happened?” Sideswipe asked. He clicked softly at the sparkling, no mischief or playfulness in the sound. Takara hiccupped and squeaked back.

“I don’t know, he was nappin’ and then he jumped awake. I think he had a nightmare, but I can’t get him to stop crying an’ Red’s not receiving any communication.” Worry hit his circuits hard. “I need to find him. He was havin’ a minor glitch last night, but I thought Ratchet had it under control.”

“If Red’s glitching, Takara might be picking up on it,” Sideswipe said softly. “Happens to me an’ Sunny sometimes. Might be what has him so scared.”

“We got ‘im, find Red,” Blaster said, gently wiping Takara’s coolant streaked face. Sunstreaker made his rumbling sound again and whether it was helping or the sparkling had cried himself out was hard to tell. Sunstreaker’s large scarred hands held Takara’s tiny frame close to his chest next to his spark. Exhaustion began to win out of fear and while he still continued to leak coolant his intakes were beginning to steady as his overtaxed systems began forcefully cycling down.

Jazz left the room at a sprint, shutting down any and all pings sent his way. He tried Red Alert again and again both channels went unanswered.

 _What did you frag up?_ Ratchet rumbled, voice rough with recharge. Despite his growing fear for Red Alert, Jazz still winced. They spent so much time harping on Ratchet to recharge like a normal mech and every time he actually did, one of them woke him up.

 _Red Alert isn’t answering any of his channels_ , Jazz said, not wasting time with apologizing. Extra words only made Ratchet crankier when he was this tired. A low growl that became a litany of curses was the only answer he got before the medic shut down the line. Jazz was closer to Red, but he didn’t think the medic would be long in getting to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for comments and kudos! Stay safe out there


	6. Ballistic

_Ratchet, ETA, Red’s critical,_ Jazz kneeled next to Red Alert, battle systems primed. Red Alert’s optics pulsed erratic dull grey as his systems struggled to reboot. Energon pooled in his chest cavity, his spark pulse frantic and arrhythmic. “Hold on, Red,” Jazz whispered tersely. Dents and gouges marked his frame along his arms and legs. Paint transfer scuffed his hands and feet. Red wasn’t classed as a frontliner, but he was still a damn good fighter. Whoever had done this had either had numbers or they’d managed to surprise the twitchy mech. Either scenario was frightening. “Keep fighting. Stay with me.” Red Alert’s intakes stuttered. His frame seized, every cable and wire tightening to its breaking point. The seizure lasted only seconds but Red Alert’s optics dimmed further. “C’mon, Red.” Jazz ran his hands over Red Alert’s head. If he’d gotten slagged up anywhere else Jazz could have done something to help. But the energon leaking into his chest was either coming from a ruptured line in his spark chamber or his spark itself and there was no way he was putting his clawed hands anywhere near something that delicate.

Footsteps thundered down the hall and seconds later Ratchet was there. Jazz jumped out of the way of the medic. “The frag,” Ratchet snapped, which was the most eloquent way Jazz could think of to summarize the situation.

“Takara had a nightmare,” Jazz said, answering as much of the medic’s question as he could. He started to pace around the room, optics searching for anything the attackers might have left behind. “I couldn’t get him to calm down so I tried Red. Unresponsive on all channels. Got Blaster with the mechling and came down here. Messaged you initially en route.” From his brief glimpse into Red Alert’s quarters before, nothing seemed out of place but something about the room didn’t sit right with him.

A few tense breems later, Hoist slid into the room, breathless. The journeymech as much Ratchet’s shadow as First Aid had probably been on the morning shift in the bay. Hoist unfolded a stretcher and the two medics moved like one mech in getting Red Alert on it and strapped in. Jazz kept well out of the way when the two medics lifted the stretcher and were out of the room in the time it took Jazz to blink.

Jazz wanted to follow, but Ratchet would be slamming the med bay doors in everyone’s face as soon as he had Red Alert unloaded. There wasn’t anything he could do for the mech, anyway. Not right now at least. He could figure out who the frag had managed to disable and severely wound their _very_ twitchy and very strong security director. He did another circuit around the room searching every corner and shelf for anything that felt out of place. He didn’t know Red Alert’s quarters very well, though, and a second look didn’t help alleviate the feeling of something _not right_.

Bringing in a slow breath like he was about to dive, he filled his aerem and held it for a few beats until his spark slowed, offlining his optics. When he let the breath out he didn’t online his optics but thought back to the last time he’d been in Red Alert’s quarters. Red didn’t have a lot of knickknacks or decorations. The room kept dark and spare, yet comfortable and quiet. He’d put Prowl down on his berth and—“Blocks,” Jazz said to himself. Optics online, he scanned the room again and pinned down the _not right_ feeling. The small set of blocks was nowhere to be seen. Dropping to the floor he checked under the berth, since that was where Prowl liked to hide in his quarters but the space was empty. He very well could’ve taken them to the security room for Takara to play with so the miniature chaos-bringer didn’t get into anything. He made a note to go by the security room. He couldn’t pin down why the missing blocks had pricked his instincts but those same instincts had kept him alive this long, he wasn’t going to question them now.

He glanced around the room once more but having pinpointed the blocks as the _not right_ thing nothing else jumped out at him. Turning his attention to the door he found the keypad was physically untouched, no spliced wires or gauges on the plate. He hooked in a hardline—dangerous since he didn’t know if someone had hacked the door with a virus—but he put his trust in his own brand of twitchy instincts and firewalls Ratchet personally updated and reinforced every quarter. Clean code came back, no sign of any tampering. He dove deeper into the code, looking through the cache, but there wasn’t any sign of a latent virus or a trojan.

Unplugging from the system he frowned hard and looked over the doorframe. It was fragging hard to manually force doors open, but with enough motivation and strength it was possible. Running his fingers over the frame and along the floor searching for scrapes or gauges he came up empty again. Baring his short shell-cracking fangs he walked into the room and did the same exam on the inside.

“Jazz?”

Jazz stuck his head out the door when the Prime called him. “No signs of tampering,” he said, XOPs predator stretching awake. Ironhide stood a step behind the Prime, canons warmed and ready. “Whoever did this either followed him in or they’ve covered their virtual tracks damn well. Blaster and Searchlight need to run a second look, but I didn’t find traces of any hacking in the door.” Jazz flexed his right hand out of habit. It had been rebuilt vorns ago after getting doused in plasfire and sometimes the phantom pain still came back when his stress levels were high.

“What happened?” the Prime asked, experienced enforcer optics also looking over the untouched door. Jazz gave him a summary, starting at the night before with Red Alert’s possible glitch-in-progress to what had led him to the security director half a joor ago.

Optimus’ faceplates tightened, optic ridges drawing together. “Where is Takara now?” Jazz had always liked the Prime, it’s why he did what he did and could still sometimes recharge. But something about Optimus asking about the sparkling’s well-being soothed some unknown piece of coding.

“Blaster and Twins have ‘im.” Jazz flexed his hand again. “Maybe not my best idea, but I had to work with what I had.” Ironhide snorted and a fleeting smile turned up the corner of Optimus’ mouth. 

“Go back to Takara,” Optimus said, crossing his arms, optics still on the door but processor in a dozen different places. “The sparkling will likely feel safer with you and that will keep him calm. Blaster and Searchlight can clear the door code and the rest of the security team can work through the video. Ratchet will let us know once Red Alert is stable…” He trailed off, still staring at the door.

“First shift mechs just saw Red Alert on a stretcher and the med bay is about to be locked down until further notice,” Jazz said. “Fast as that sparkling news made it around this base, that’ll be hittin’ harder than a virus.”

“ _Ark_ crew knows about Red’s glitch,” Ironhide rumbled. “Might be a little excitement from the younger mechs, but it’ll hardly be a blip on the radar for the older ones by mid-orn.”

Jazz followed that line of reasoning, tested it against what he’d picked up from the base the orn before. “If the older mechs don’t feed into it, you’re right.” He would make _certain_ older mechs didn’t give that rumor a foothold.

“Ratchet will let me know when Red Alert is stable,” Optimus said, turning to Ironhide, glowering at the door he added, “I want you to stick close to Wheeljack until we know why Red Alert was attacked.”

The old mech’s cannons whined hot and ready, the surest and most dangerous sign of his anger. “Prowl and Red Alert out of the picture, you’re the next most likely target.” Jazz had to agree with that.

Optimus looked between Jazz and Ironhide while he spoke. The security team, lead by Searchlight, turned the corner coming down the hall. “If they are looking to significantly impact the Autobots, Wheeljack will be the next best target.” Old pain and weariness clouded his face for a moment, but he nodded at Searchlight to start processing the scene. “None of Megatron’s loyalists will come for me. Megatron has made it no secret he will be the one to extinguish my spark.”

Ironhide growled, the sound matching the continued hum from his canons. Jazz paced a few steps in the hall, his processor turning over the very little information we had. “We can’t rule out any motivation,” he said, wishing Prowl was with them. “I can put Mirage on Wheeljack, he’s been skulkin’ around in that hall anyway.” Ironhide’s canons cooled a bit. “I’ll be with the sparkling, Blaster will be with the security team once I get Takara. Ratchet is…Ratchet.”

Optimus made a soft sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Ratchet always has been and always will be Ratchet,” he said with no shortage of fondness for their foul-mouthed medic. Jazz was sure the Unmaker himself had a soft spot for the healer. Red Alert was in good hands. He was in _the best_ hands.

“Unless security turns up something or Red wakes up, there’s nothing much we can do,” Jazz said. “Business as usual for us. I’ll see if Steeljaw or Eject can listen in on the base this orn.”

Jazz followed the soft pulse of his bond not back to his quarters but to the Twins’ room. Thinking Sideswipe would be the one to open the door he blinked twice in surprise when it was Sunstreaker’s shining yellow on the other side. Blaster sat on the couch farther in with Sideswipe, optics pale as he scanned the network. Ratchet was going to have his aft after he was done with Red. “What happened to Red?” Sunstreaker asked with a frown. Jazz shook his head to collect his thoughts once more.

He had no reason to lie to the Twins and sometimes it was too exhausting trying to come up with something that Sideswipe wouldn’t immediately pick apart. “Someone attacked Red Alert, that would be what Takara picked up on. Anyone come looking for him?” Sunstreaker’s lip lifted in a snarl but he shook his head. Takara chirped when he heard Jazz’s voice and crawled off Sideswipe’s lap.

Jazz had only seen the red twin that happy when a prank went off without a hitch. “Sunny and Blaster let me hold him. They said I had to be sitting down and I couldn’t be a glitch about it, so I got to hold him.” Sunstreaker rolled his optics with a suffering sigh but Jazz was thankful for the odd bit of normalcy in the face of the last joor. Takara squeaked and reached up to Jazz. Hoisting the sparkling into his arms he nuzzled his head with a quiet sigh.

Like a light switch, Sideswipe’s mood flipped from exuberant to lethal. “Who hurt Red?” The Twins didn’t often transition between emotions. It was another quirk that made other mechs leery of them, but Jazz followed the abrupt change without a hitch. He also wore different moods and masks that had to change quickly. Sunstreaker matched his brother’s cold-opticked glare.

“Scene is being processed, he wasn’t conscious when I got to him.” Jazz wouldn’t have thought the Twins would go full gladiator for Red Alert as often as the mech put them in the brig. They were loyal to their cores to the Autobot cause, but when it came down to individuals, things could get questionable. But, Jazz reflected, it was becoming more apparent in the time he spent with Red Alert that he and Prowl had a better understanding of the Twins than anyone else on the ship.

Blaster blinked slowly twice and shook his head a few times before slowly gaining his feet. “I’m headin’ there. Probably be in security room next lookin’ over feed. Searchlight said he came up clean on the code, too,” he said with a frown, his optics back to their usual sapphire.

“Thanks for watching him,” Jazz said softly. Takara climbed to his usual perch on Jazz’s shoulder and looked down the hall with a small frown on his face. Blaster shook himself from head to toe to fully ground himself. Seeing Takara’s serious little face, he grinned and tickled the end of Takara’s wing as he walked by. Takara whipped around cybercat quick and swatted at his fingers. Blaster was already out of reach having plenty of practice avoiding sharp claws and teeth with Steeljaw.

Sunstreaker shrugged and made a noncommittal sound; hard aft ‘til the end.

Sideswipe’s mercurial mood switched again and he beamed, “Any time. Can we watch him tomorrow?”

Jazz caught Takara when his weight shifted like he was going to launch. “Let’s take your spark sitting an orn at a time, Sides,” Jazz said with a wary glance at the excitable red twin.

Sideswipe pouted for a full two seconds before shrugging and saying, “You find the glitch who hurt Red, let us know. We’ll feed ‘em their spark.” There was no warmth in the fanged smile he flashed.

Jazz nodded once because he didn’t know what to say to that energon thirsty statement. And Red Alert had him getting sentimental thinking about the Twins as young. Well, they were. But they’d also fought and survived in the Pits. Sunstreaker could slit a mech’s throat with the same ease he could paint a picture. It was…reassuring, though, in a strange way. He needed the Twins to be _The Twins_ right now. He was out of balance without Red Alert and Prowl to lean on. They were his natural counterweights; offense and defense, rigid practicality and fluid intuition. He felt like a shot gone wild without their solid processors to ground him.

Leaving the Twins, he thought through his schedule. He was supposed to be doing check-ins closer to evening which is why Red Alert was supposed to have Takara. Said mechling was still frowning, but he shifted down from Jazz’s shoulder to snuggle against his chest. Jazz couldn’t miss check-ins. That was non-negotiable. “You have fun with the Twin Terrors?” he asked Takara softly. “You might get to see Trail or Hound today, too.” Takara yawned but his wings didn’t slouch and he didn’t look like he was ready for a nap anytime soon. “You’re gonna be bunkin’ with me again tonight.” He held the sparkling close to his chest feeling the rapid pulse of his spark through his thin armor.

After getting Takara his mid-orn bottle, Jazz debated getting himself something to eat. With the ship docked, _The Ark_ ’s dispensary was closed to it could be restocked. They’d worked out a schedule to always have one officer shipside and with Takara so they didn’t have to take the mechling to the base. As it stood now, all officers were currently occupied with Red Alert. He had already skipped breakfast to get a few extra breems of recharge when Takara didn’t get up and pounce on his face at his usual time. He frowned as he reviewed the early part of the morning. Takara had recharged later than he usually did and had woken up disoriented and scared. He’d have to ask one of the medics how much of an echo the sparkling could pick up on from Red Alert.

The Twins were _supposed_ to be in communications, covering for Blaster while he worked with the security team, so those dubious sparkling sitters were out. Hound and Trailbreaker were also scheduled to be covering shifts soon in security for Red Alert and Searchlight. Moonracer was a possibility, but sweet as the sharpshooter was, she was young and still trying to wrangle her more extreme coding response. Takara would be safe, it was everyone else that would be in imminent danger. Inferno was another possibility, but he’d worked third and was likely in recharge.

He was going to have to take Takara onto the base.

Rubbing his optics with one hand he hissed out a breath from between his teeth. It would be fine. Everything would be fine. He just had to grab a ration and get out. It wasn’t like he was sneaking into Shockwave’s labs with the little mech. He knew the base, knew the halls, pit, he knew a fair amount of the mechs in those halls. He just had to slip in and out with hardly anyone the wiser. None of them expected Takara to leave the ship so they wouldn’t be looking for him.

Easy.

Jazz stood at the airlock separating him from the base for a full breem trying to work through his coding issues.

Yes, there were a lot of mechs on the other side of the door.

Yes, at least a few of them had some kind of weird virus, it was a final refueling stop before the abyss of deep space.

Yes, they were big and loud and most of them had probably never seen a sparkling before. If they realized Takara was among them they would want to get a good look at him and there would probably be a lot of them and he would probably glitch and that might start a fight and Takara would be in the middle of it—

He shut down that thought spiral feeling a sympathetic pang for Prowl’s occasional processor locks. Takara chirruped at him looking at the plain door with bright, interested optics. He’d of course seen mechs going in and out of the door and had tried to make a break for it twice now. Wriggling, he tried to get loose from Jazz so he could open the door himself. “You get on me about charging into unknown situations,” Jazz muttered, catching the mechling before he could slip free.

“Uh…Jazz?” He flinched and barely kept himself from pulling a weapon. Turning around too fast, he found Hound and Trailbreaker standing a few paces behind him with equally concerned expressions

“Oh, hey,” he said with a smile only a little strained. Takara squeaked at them but his focus was on the door. He tried to get loose again and this time succeeded. Jazz covered the touchpad with his hand so the mechling couldn’t open it and they glared at each other. Jazz felt an unwilling smile pull up the corner of his mouth as Takara flared his wings and glowered at him. He’d had plenty of standoffs with Prowl.

“You, uh, goin’ out that door?” Hound asked holding back a laugh. “You waitin’ for someone to get him?” he added nodding at the stubborn sparkling. Trailbreaker lifted his hands and a shimmering force field surrounded Takara. He squeaked in surprise and his glower disappeared, distracted by the faint shifting colors on the barrier.

“Better?” Trailbreaker asked while he and Hound laughed.

Jazz rolled his optics, but he did like the force field. “There’s been a change in things,” he said slowly. Hound and Trailbreaker needed to get through since they were likely getting their rations before heading to security.

“Tell me about it,” Trailbreaker sighed. “Got a last minute notification we’re doing security.”

Jazz winced inwardly, but the scouts—Hound in particular—were steady and reliable as time. And Trailbreaker had the _very_ useful talent of forcefields which seemed to be the only thing capable of keeping Takara out of trouble. Making a quick decision, he told them. “We had a problem this morning with Red Alert.”

Hound frowned. “I heard there was a commotion, he had a bad one?”

“This doesn’t go past the two of you, but someone attacked him.” Jazz said, glancing at Takara when the mechling’s tiny claws scratched against the floor next to him. Takara had grown bored with chasing the forefield’s colors and was once again looking for a way to get to the touchpad and through the door. He scratched the floor, searching for a seam between the forcefield and the floor he could exploit. Jazz rubbed his face again. How the pit was he supposed to keep up with a sparkling without Red Alert?

“Someone _attacked_ Red?” Trailbreaker whispered. “How’s that even possible?” From another mech, it might’ve been a sarcastic comment, but Trailbreaker looked truly spooked by the idea that someone could catch Red Alert on the back foot.

Jazz gave him a wan smile. “Happens to even the best of us, eventually,” he said softly. “But the other officers are busy working through that and we’ve had to shift things around and…” he looked at Takara again who was tapping on the forcefield trying to figure out if there was a way over it instead of under it, “This little glitchmouse is with me for the orn.”

Understanding crossed Hound’s face. “You gotta take him on base.” He looked at Takara when the sparkling hissed irritably when he couldn’t find a way out of the forcefield. Swiping at the forcefield sent a flare of colors and the sparkling was once more distracted by the new development.

“You’re the bravest mech I know, Jazz,” Trailbreaker said.

“I’ve done missions on the _Nemesis_ that didn’t glitch me this bad,” Jazz said, flicking his cephalic fins.

“Think of it as an adventure,” Hound said, the familiar spark of joy he got when he was prepping for a new mission gleaming in his optics. “Nothin’ gets through or out of Trail’s forcefields, no matter how persistent,” he added with a smile as Takara resumed his search for an escape with angry little hisses.

“So far,” Jazz said. Stretching his hand he caught Takara when Trailbreaker collapsed the forcefield. “In and out. Easy.”

Takara’s joy at finally going through the door had been tempered almost immediately. The rush of noise and unfamiliar scents and mechs had him pressing against Jazz like a second coat of paint. Jazz stayed between Hound and Trailbreaker, his small frame easily overlooked when he wanted it to be and with Takara mostly still and quiet in his arms he started to feel better about their little op.

The primary artery leading from docked ships to the interior of the base was crowded like a morning bazaar during a holiday. Mechs and femmes that hadn’t seen each other in decacyles or longer found each other with shouts and met with loud laughter. Illicit goods picked up from distant planets were traded in huddled groups with quick optics looking for officers that might confiscate their finds.

In a staggered line, Hound took lead while Trailbreaker hung back with Jazz. Mechs and femmes hollered and argued in the hallway like _The_ _Ark_ but with three times as many voices. The din was something he was used to but Takara hissed and covered his audios and pulled his wings up for good measure. “Aw, mechling,” Trailbreaker said sympathetically. Hound glanced back and saw his pathetic little ball too and took a side hall that was a little less crowded. Takara uncurled a little at a time and when he decided the noise was tolerable, slowly lifted his chin to Jazz’s shoulder to look at the crowd behind. His wing came up and smacked Jazz in the face. “Watch the appendages,” Jazz muttered folding his wing off his face. Trailbreaker snickered.

The base dispensary was close to the docks because that was usually the first stop for mechs soon as a ship came in. Good news because their little group didn’t have to go far. Bad news was that there was never a quiet time in the dispensary. It was always packed to the rafters with mechs and femmes and it was where gossips liked to congregate. In the halls, it was easy to slip through unnoticed, everyone had someplace to be and no one was really looking for anyone else. The dispensary was a different place. There, mechs and femmes were looking for familiar and unfamiliar faces, they were looking for rumors and gossip and stories. There wasn’t a chance in the Unmaker’s Smelter that Takara and Jazz could go unnoticed.

Hound stopped when they were a corner away from the dispensary. It was somewhat of a strange place to stop, but Trailbreaker was looking at every mech walking by like he was looking for something. Whether he was doing it on purpose or it was his natural curiosity, Jazz didn’t know but it gave them an excuse to be stopped in the hall and remain unremarked on. “One or two of us can go in and get rations, the other can stay out here with Takara.” Hound said. Jazz’s coding nipped at him and he pushed it aside. There was no way he was getting the sparkling in and out of the dispensary without a scene.

“It’ll have to be the two of us,” Jazz said thinking through their options. “Mechs and femmes know me and are looking for me. I stand out here by myself they’ll find me. An’ if the mechling gets away from Trail, he’s got the inescapable forcefield.”

Trailbreaker laughed good naturedly. “Maybe after the war I’ll start an orncare.” Jazz and Hound both laughed, but Jazz thought the big mech would be a good caretaker. He was like Prowl—Adult Prowl—in a lot of ways; patient, calm, not easily irritated or flustered. He was one of the only mechs onboard that hadn’t been in a fight with the Twins or Cliffjumper.

“Be good with Trailbreaker, I’ll be right back,” Jazz told the sparkling in Nosukyan. Takara left off his suspicious appraisal of the mechs walking by and looked up at the big mech. Trailbreaker held out his hands and Takara went without a fuss. Trailbreaker was a great deal taller than Jazz and the mechling swarmed up to his shoulder, wings partially flared as he looked around the hall from his new vantage point. “Somehow, I feel like that’s a comment on my height.”

Hound snorted and put an arm around his shoulders. Jazz walked into the dispensary with the older mech. “If I get sidetracked, get Takara back an’ take him to security. I’ll catch up,” he said lowly with a fake smile on his face. Hound gave him a light squeeze in understanding. The usual cheers and jeers greeted him when mechs realized he was in the room. He turned on his Jazzmech persona and returned the greetings. Hound melted into the crowd as much a ghost as Mirage. Hound was too old for rumors and hearsay and once out of sight was out of mind. Later, some mech might think it odd Jazz came in with the old scout and not Blaster, and Primus only knew what _that_ would start. But for now, no one picked up on the aberration.

Jazz was making good time getting through the crowd. His rank and occupation keeping conversations short and sweet and he skated through them with his devilish smirk firmly in place. He was keeping an optic on Hound and an audio on the hall so he heard the excited uptick in noise before most other mechs in the room. He was already turning to get back to the hallway when a young bright opticked recruit burst through the doorway breathless. “There’s a _sparkling!_ ”

At the same time Trailbreaker messaged him and Hound _They found me._

Chaos.

A mass exodus from the room as mechs and femmes ran out to confirm there was an honest-to-Primus sparkling in the hall. Hound and Jazz were with them. Jazz could feel the low hum of Trailbreaker’s forcefield as soon as he entered the hall. The big mech was looking a little bewildered at the dozens of mechs pressing in around him but—as always—was calm. Takara was glowering at everyone, dark gold optics flashing in the light, tiny fangs bared. “The whole damn base’ll be here in a breem,” Hound muttered.

“This was not my best idea,” Jazz grumbled looking at the crowded hall. He would bet the entire network was lighting up again as those in the hall messaged everyone they knew in range. Blaster was going to glitch.

Jazz messaged Trailbreaker _Start working your way back to the ship, Hound and I will have to catch up._ Trailbreaker could manipulate forcefields once he had them up, but if Hound or Jazz wanted to join him, he’d have to drop it and reform it. The hall was crowded enough he’d be swarmed in a sparkbeat.

As he’d hoped, Trailbreaker shifted the forcefield into a wedge shape and started slowly moving the crowd while Takara hissed menacingly. A tiny thrill of fear snaked through Jazz’s spark from the mechling and Jazz throttled his coding back with teeth gritting focus. He sent through as much warmth and reassurance as he could. Nothing got through Trailbreaker’s shields, none of the strange mechs could get to him.

One of the more inventive fliers took a chance to see if Trailbreaker had enclosed the forcefield.

He had not.

One second, Jazz was irritated trying to think of a polite way to shove his fellow soldiers out of the way, the next an unfamiliar seeker was within the forcefield face to face with a very surprised Trailbreaker. The tiny spark of fear he’d been getting from Takara became a flood of panic. Takara made a high pitch wail of terror and tried to get away from the strange mech that was too close.

No one hurt his sparkling.

He would protect his sparkling.

Consciousness came back slowly and in disoriented pieces. His frame ached like he’d been too hot for too long and his exoform felt tight over his frame as if he was dehydrated. A processor ache throbbed in the back of his head and his knuckles were sore. He hadn’t felt this bad since he’d tangled with a Gyish in a bar brawl and learned the hard way just how hard their heads were.

Making a low noise he became aware of a small rapid spark pulse against his chest. That was important. Prowl. Takara. He had Takara with him. Had the mechling tried one of his jumps? He couldn’t remember where he’d been. He did remember the mechling had been scared. His spark tried to kick up again but he was at the end of his energy reserves. The sparkling wasn’t scared now. He listened to the soft chirrups and squeaks Takara made and felt the faint tendrils of lingering suspicion but overall contentment from the little spark.

“Primus fraggit, Jazz, _Get Up!_ ” Ratchet’s loud voice brought his head up too fast and his vision seesawed as he clumsily looked around the unfamiliar hallway. Takara squeaked in surprise and looked up at him and then glowered at Ratchet.

Jazz’s scattered processor picked up on a much closer spark and he whipped around. Sunstreaker crouched just out of reach with his toothy trademark energon thirsty gladiator smile. “You’ve got these frontliners leaking all over themselves.” Jazz had never seen the yellow twin look so happy. 

“Is he still glitchy?” Sideswipe asked from closer to Ratchet. The red twin was also looking very gladiatorial. With a sharp inhale, Jazz snapped back into himself.

The hallway. He remembered it being too crowded to even push through and now it was almost empty. Base enforcers were in a loose ring around him looking between him and the Twins. Optimus stood back next to Ratchet watching him with worried optics, Sideswipe stood between them and Jazz.

“You hold back when you spar, Jazz,” Sunstreaker said accusingly.

“What happened?” Jazz asked feeling exhaustion pulling at his limbs and dizziness in his processor. “Why are we talking about sparring?” Jazz checked over Takara but the sparkling was fine. The fragmented memories of the sparkling’s fear felt more like a nightmare than something that actually happened. “You okay, Pr-mechling?” he asked softly and considered he needed to keep his mouth shut until his processor wasn’t spinning.

“Uh, your coding made you go Ballistic Caretaker on about four dozen seasoned frontliners and sent them all screaming for their own caretakers,” Sunstreaker said with a snort. “Why do you hold back when you spar?” he asked, mood switching from gladiator to confusion.

“Wha-? Why you keep asking me about sparring?” Jazz slowly got to his feet feeling a dozen new aches and pains all over his frame.

Sideswipe pranced up next to his brother still grinning “He’s fine,” he said with an optic roll at the twitchy enforcers standing in the hall. “I hope they got that on security,” Sideswipe said giggling. “Primus, you should’ve heard them, you’d think Megatron landed on the fragging roof.”

“Can someone coherent explain to me what happened,” Jazz asked dryly.

“You went glitchy and thrashed a bunch’a frontliners,” Sideswipe said with a shrug. “How come you hold back when you spar?”

Before he could shake answers out of the Twins, Ratchet and Optimus were in front of him. “Primus _fraggit_ , Jazz. You think I have the fraggin’ time to take care of glitchy code?” Ratchet snapped. He felt a light interference from Ratchet’s active scanners pushing across Jazz’s passive scanners. “What were you thinking bringing Takara out here? Do you have any Primus-rusted idea how many smelter-fragging viruses are on this base.” Takara snapped at Ratchet’s hand when it passed too close. Ratchet ignored the snap and continued checking Jazz over.

“The last thing I remember is a seeker being too close to Takara and the sparkling was scared. Now my processor feels like its splitting and my frame hurts. What the frag happened?” he asked the medic, his achy frame feeding into his temper.

“When Takara got scared your core coding took over and you set out to eliminate anything and everything perceived as a threat and now a dozen mechs and femmes are in the med bay for light repairs.”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe threw up their hands. “We told you that,” they said together with matching annoyed voices.

Jazz turned to the two of them again. “So what’re you two doing here?” The happy fanged gladiator smiles returned.

Optimus gave the Twins a fond yet pained look. “You’re a formidable fighter, Jazz. Given your proximity to Takara the base enforcers weren’t authorized to use force to subdue you. We needed to keep you distracted while the halls were evacuated and a perimeter was established.”

The Twins grinned and Jazz felt an answering smile despite his soreness. “Primus help us, you two had to get in a fight to stop a fight?”

“How come you hold back when you spar?” Sunstreaker asked again. Jazz gestured vaguely at the deserted hallway that he’d unintentionally turned into a warzone.

Sunstreaker waved it off, as if Jazz doing his best to deactivate fellow soldiers was inconsequential. “Well, now you know you don’t have to hold back with us and we can actually play. That was fun.”

“Yeah!” Sideswipe said. “I wanna learn some of your tricks, they’re _sneaky_. Red Alert and Prowl are the only ones who play sneaky. That’s how they always win,” the red twin pouted. Sunstreaker scowled as well and Jazz felt himself warming even more to their security director and SIC. The Twins were the only ones that could get Prowl and Red Alert to spar with any consistency. The two mechs had their own solitary routines that they worked through and didn’t often work with partners. But it didn’t take more than a few verbal jabs from Sideswipe or an overconfident comment from Sunstreaker to have them out on the mats with the Twins. Jazz had never seen either twin win, but apparently they still had fun.

Despite everything, Jazz huffed a soft laugh. “All right mechs, next time we spar, I’ll be sneakier.” Optimus looked from Jazz to the Twins’ beaming faces and raised an optic ridge. Jazz shrugged one shoulder and returned to more serious matters. “Did I hurt anyone?” he asked.

“No one’s dead,” Ratchet said bluntly. “So you still had some handle on the coding otherwise I’m sure they’d all be deactivated. Mostly dents and scrapes, only a few welds needed.” Jazz let out a slow breath and nodded. He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking, but there must have been some awareness there. He had at least two knives on him and easily could’ve taken weapons from anyone else in the hall. As crowded as it had been, it would’ve been carnage if he’d been intent on killing what he thought threatened Takara.

“I think the army learned a valuable lesson about sparklings and core coding,” Optimus said. He motioned for Jazz to follow him and the base enforcers broke up their loose circle to return to their duties. “The fervor of trying to see Takara has dropped off considerably.”

“Silver linings,” Jazz said, trying to loosen his shoulders. “Primus, I am too old to be a melee fighter.”

“I think that’s why Prowl and Red Alert are sneaky,” Sideswipe said sagely. “They’re old, too.”

“I’m beginning to see why they enjoy tossing you around so much,” Jazz said, slicking his fins back in annoyance.

Sunstreaker snorted and said, “That doesn’t make sense, Ironhide isn’t sneaky _at all_.” That made his brother’s brow furrow in thought and Jazz had the strange feeling that somehow in his Ballistic Caretaker melee, he’d passed into the small inner circle of mechs the Twins trusted. Sunstreaker didn’t seem as aloof or irritable and Sideswipe wasn’t needling his brother for a fight. This was like the occasional early mornings he found the Twins in the dispensary with Red Alert or Prowl, questioning the older mechs with the same zeal as Bluestreak. The mood always shifted once he’d been spotted, and they switched to The Twins, but always for a second or two there had been a relaxed atmosphere.

“Ironhide has never been very sneaky,” Optimus said with a chuckle. The Twins tilted their heads to the same side at the same angle while they thought about that. Oftentimes they did things like that because they knew it was uncanny and could make mechs uncomfortable, but this didn’t feel like them intentionally provoking a response. Sideswipe still looked like he was thinking hard over the correlation between age and sneaky and not watching for flinches or grimaces like he usually did when they mirrored each other.

“Maybe when you get _really_ old you stop being sneaky again because your joints lock up,” Sideswipe suggested. “Ratchet, are you sneaky?”

“I’m going to sneak this wrench straight through your pit-cursed mouth.”

They reached the airlock back to the ship and Jazz felt the final vestiges of tension bleeding from his shoulders. Everyone on the ship knew how to behave with Takara. He wasn’t going to go glitchy with them. Primus, he could only imagine what the network looked like. He was sure, even with everything else he was doing, Blaster was compiling a list of greatest hits he’d be tormenting Jazz with for the next kel.

The Twins ducked through the airlock first, Jazz right behind them. Ratchet and Optimus followed. He was glad there wasn’t anyone waiting. He didn’t think he had the energy to put on his Jazzmech persona and laugh off everything that happened. A few joors of recharge and he’d be able to handle it, but right now his processor was still aching and his frame was letting him know about every dent and scrape.

Quick enough Jazz flinched back and reached for a knife, Ratchet darted in front of him to catch Sideswipe’s ankle. With an expert tug and heave he pulled Sideswipe’s legs out from under him and sent him flailing into his brother. Surprised yelps and curses and the thunderous crash of the two heavy frontliners filled the hall, spiking Jazz’s processor ache. The Twins lay in a bewildered heap to the side of the airlock and watched Ratchet stroll by. Optimus, Jazz and Takara also stood motionless and watched the medic in silent surprise until Sideswipe’s wild laughter filled the hall.

“How old do you have to be to get Ratchet sneaky?” Sunstreaker asked, shoving his brother off. Takara clicked a few times and then snuggled close to Jazz’s chest near his spark, watching the medic continue down the hall, perplexed.

Optimus rubbed his optic ridges and shook his head. “Ratchet has _always_ been sneaky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, this pandemic is not super conducive to creative endeavors.  
> I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.  
> Wear a mask, wash your hands, and thank you for reading/reviewing!


	7. Medics and Mysteries

After an orn of no leads, the curt meeting message from Ratchet to the other officers was welcome. Jazz still hadn’t located the blocks missing from Red Alert’s room. He’d gone through again and checked under every piece of furniture and in every drawer. Security had done the same thing in the security room and had also come up empty. Of all the other things that didn’t sit right with him about the attack it was the missing blocks that were close to frying his processor. He couldn’t even explain it away as Prowl picking them up and leaving them somewhere. For all the chaos the little mech liked to cause he was still tidy when it came to his toys. Jazz didn’t have to worry about tripping over the rough toys mechs and femmes cobbled together for the little mech. Part of that was because Takara kept his toys under the berth, but he kept them lined up and didn’t shove them under the berth but gently returned them when they had to leave.

That meant the blocks were missing. Someone had taken sparkling toys from Red Alert’s room. To what end, Jazz had no idea and he was driving himself glitchy obsessing over it. So when Ratchet sent the message for them to meet in the med bay Jazz was out the door with Takara bundled in his arms in a breem.

The little mech was in one of his docile moods and didn’t protest when Jazz scooped him up and darted out the door. For the last orn, Takara’s mood had been unpredictable and a glitch and a half to deal with on top of everything else going on. Jazz couldn’t find a rhyme or reason to the sudden fits of tantrum that often seized the young mech. Hissing, biting, clawing, and a fun new development as of that morning: a high pitched shriek that could probably shatter glass and did a number on Jazz’s sensitive audios. The moods came from out of nowhere and just as quickly were gone leaving Jazz battered both physically and emotionally. The sudden deluge of fear and rage that pulsed through their spark bond like a supernova was enough to make his knees weak. The outbursts left Prowl just as exhausted and achy as Jazz and the mechling could recharge for joors after one. Jazz had spent what little spare time he had reading through every caretaker file Blaster could find trying to figure out what the pit was going on in Prowl’s young processor.

Takara squeaked at familiar mechs they passed and Jazz tightened his hold on him when he tried to wiggle down. “Nah spark, you can walk back, right now we gotta see Ratchet and Red Alert.” Takara tilted his head back and forth and clicked before resuming his escape attempts. Sighing, Jazz hoisted him higher in his arms and blew warm air against his neck to distract him. Takara’s little squeal got a smile out of more than one soldier passing by.

They were the last to reach the med bay and by that time Jazz could tell Takara was about to launch into one of his tantrums. The steady rise of fear and anger was building in the young mech’s spark and Jazz was getting scorching echoes of it in his own.

“Brace yourselves,” Jazz said as he finally set Takara down and got a fine new set of slashes on the back of his hand for his efforts. It didn’t seem possible for such a small frame to contain the amount of apocalyptic energy Jazz was getting from him. Takara’s wings lifted and his feathers bristled making his already oversized wings look even larger and his tiny cephalic fins lifted, golden optics darkening to amber.

Blaster slowly turned around to watch the sparkling’s building eruption. “Uh, Takara, Prowl? Are you okay?” Blaster asked with wide optics. Takara hissed venomously, the rasp of a growl beginning to underscore the sound and Blaster backed up a step.

“What’s gotten into you, Prowl?” Ironhide asked with a furrowed brow. Jazz didn’t have time to warn them before Takara let loose his piercing shriek making all the adults flinch back two steps and cover their audios. Prowl’s tiny frame shook with the force of the sound, rage overshadowing everything else in their bond.

Ratchet got past the noise first and strode forward. “Ratchet, you’ll lose a finger,” Jazz warned. He showed his other hand still scored deeply from Prowl’s sharp and impressively strong little jaws. Ratchet didn’t make a sign that he’d heard the warning and kneeled in front of the mechling with narrowed optics. Takara snarled and slashed at him with another shriek that had Jazz covering his audios. He had no idea what to do to calm the mechling, anything he tried to put through the bond was burned up by the incandescent _rage_ that poured out of the tiny mech. Prowl shrieked again in rage that was too big for his little body, the sound clawed and rent the air like his tiny curved claws tore open exoforms. Ratchet ignored the bleeding wounds Prowl inflicted, his optics watching every move the mechling made.

The tantrum only lasted a few breems, about the same as the others, but by the time Prowl started to wind down Jazz felt like he’d been awake for a septorn. Prowl’s vicious swipes became clumsy and his shrieking became half-sparked growls. His wings dropped, dragging on the floor and his optics lightened to an exhausted gold. The fire tornado of fury in their spark bond began to gutter and finally went out leaving a cold vacant place that Jazz tried to fill with quiet and calm. Still bleeding from deeper wounds on his wrist, Ratchet fearlessly scooped the mechling into his arms and stood, optics flashing with scans.

Despite Prowl’s continued reluctance towards the medics, he didn’t fight. Exhaustion bled through their bond thick and sticky as tar. Tiny hiccupping breaths filled the silent med bay and Takara dropped into unwilling and exhausted recharge a breem later.

“What in the Unmaker’s Smelter was _that?_ ” Ironhide demanded—softly—so he wouldn’t wake the mechling.

Jazz shrugged one shoulder, also ready for a nap. “This is the fifth time he’s done that since yesterorn. I can’t find a pattern. Is his processor destabilizing?” he asked Ratchet, stomping down on the tendril of fear so Takara wouldn’t pick up on it.

Ratchet didn’t immediately answer and Jazz’s trepidation grew. “I don’t think so,” the medic said at last in a soft voice. “We’ll check before you leave, but preliminary scans aren’t showing anything different from his last appointment.”

“Is it a trauma response?” First Aid asked softly from the doorway of the office. The young medic looked alarmed but not frightened. “I’ve been reading more about spark bonds since you asked about how much of an echo he might’ve picked up from Red Alert’s attack,” he explained softly, ducking his head shyly when the other officers looked at him.

Ratchet gave his apprentice a fond approving look. “Yes, it is very likely a trauma response. The last two orns have been chaotic for all of us, but even more so for Prowl, who doesn’t remember that he knows all of us and has no idea where he is or where his creators are. And now add in the echoes from Red Alert’s attack.”

Jazz flipped up his visor to rub his optics and flicked his cephalic fins a few times to shake off the emotional exhaustion the tantrums left him with. “So how do I fix it? I’ve been reading every fraggin’ thing I can about sparklings, Ratch and nothing about trauma response has come up.”

Ratchet sighed and shook his head. “Trauma in sparklings is difficult to deal with, Jazz. This young, they don’t have the vocabulary to articulate what’s wrong so there isn’t a straightforward way of dealing with it like we have with older mechs and femmes. Can you describe what the tantrums feel like on your end?”

“Rage,” Jazz said immediately. “Like he wants to tear something apart,” he added nodding at Ratchet’s bleeding wrist.

Ratchet looked down at the little mechling in his arms with a frown. “I’ll look into it more, but for now, I called you down because of Red Alert.” He walked over and gently set Takara down next to Red Alert. Instead of waking up like he usually did, Takara snuggled deeper into Red Alert’s side and pulled a wing up. The last echoes of fear and anger finally quieted and a hum of contentment filtered through their bond.

Jazz threw his hands up in exasperation. “I been tryin’ to do that for a whole fraggin’ orn. Red’s not even online and he does it. I quit.” He crossed his arms ready to throw a tantrum of his own. Blaster slid an arm around his waist and held him close.

“Why’d you call us down here, Ratchet?” Ironhide rumbled impatiently.

“What, you don’t want to hear about Jazz’s adventures in sparkling sitting?” Blaster said with mock indignation. The glare Ironhide leveled at him said he wasn’t in the mood for Blaster’s jokes.

“First off, Red Alert is still recovering well.” Ratchet strode over to a screen set in the wall and pulled up a few charts. Jazz recognized the major systems and circuitry. Nothing looked out of sync to his untrained optics, but there must have been something there because Ratchet wouldn’t waste their time. “First Aid found it, actually.” He zoomed in on the spark until it filled the screen. “These little dots, you see them? I asked Aid to run another scan on his spark to make sure nothing else was amiss. He thought he’d made a mistake on the first one so he did it again. Jazz moved a little closer and frowned at the tiny black dots on the screen. He didn’t see a pattern in them.

“What are they?” Optimus said tilting his head to get a better look at them.

“Punctures. Holes.”

Jazz’s spark went cold and Takara made a soft noise in his recharge. Without thinking, Jazz shutdown his anxiety and soothed the little mech until Takara was peaceful once more. He tried to filter the emotion but the tiny holes on the screen stopped his spark every time he saw them.

“That mean something to ya’, Jazz?” Blaster asked with concern. “Someone poked holes in Red’s spark? The frag they do that?” he asked Ratchet with a snarl in his voice.

“They didn’t poke holes,” Jazz whispered. Ratchet shook his head. “The holes are a result, not what they intended. They cored his spark.” His tanks churned and he was glad Takara had thrown a tantrum that morning keeping him from getting to the dispensary, he might have purged his tanks right there.

Ratchet nodded. “Whoever did this to Red Alert took half a dozen cores, Prime, we’re looking at one of the biggest defense breaches this army has ever seen.” Optimus and Ironhide stilled completely. Blaster still looked desperately lost but didn’t break the fragile silence with his question.

Jazz leaned a little closer to him, grateful Blaster had kept his arm around his waist. “You can wipe a processor,” he said softly to the communications officer. “But you can’t erase what’s in your spark. Whoever did this was looking for information so important it was imprinted on his spark either temporarily because he’s been thinking about it so much or permanently. Any major defense plans Red’s been working on for the last kel are most likely in the cores they took.” Blaster’s optics paled a shade.

“Do you have any idea, any way to trace?” Optimus said in a voice only half its usual strength.

“Yes” Ratchet rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Red’s armor was accessed using an emergency override,” Ratchet said softly. “I’ve sent the code to the academy and they should be getting back to me within the joor as long as there’s no interference.”

“A medic did this?” Jazz asked incredulously. “Could someone have swiped the code?”

Ratchet shook his head once. “No, Jazz. Every medic has a unique code and they’re not given until after apprenticeship. If a medic’s code has been compromised they would know, if I even _think_ you or the Twins have somehow figured it out I would notify Iacon and they would immediately blacklist it. Within a septorn every neutral and medic in this army would have a virus patch for it, it would be treated as a S-7 viral outbreak. Then _I_ would be under review and if the academy finds I was lacking in some manner my medical certification would be revoked.”

Blaster stared with his mouth open and Jazz was pretty close to mirroring the expression. “All that for a code?” Blaster said in disbelief.

“Blaster,” Ratchet said with a tired look. “My medical code allows me to access _any_ room anywhere at any time.” He pointed to Red Alert on the berth. “I can access anyone’s armor, shut down systems, access processor files, reroute circuitry. All of that comes from my code.”

First Aid came around the corner from the office once more while Jazz and Blaster were still trying to process the full depth of everything Ratchet just told them. “Iacon came through,” the little apprentice said softly. “I already checked the name against base personnel, she’s not registered.” Ratchet took the slip from him and blinked twice.

“It’s not her,” he said a rare note of shock in his voice.

First Aid frowned a little. “Do…you want me to call them back and check?” Jazz was certain the apprentice had checked each letter twice before and after writing them down. With something this serious he wouldn’t risk flipping or missing a letter and possibly destroying an innocent medic’s reputation.

Ratchet shook his head still staring at the paper. “No, mechling, nothing like that,” his voice was still soft, but the shock was gone and he gave his apprentice one of his rare gentle smiles. “Red Wing died vorns ago. She was at the Battle of Sci. She died on the field. It can’t…it can’t be her.” The troubled look returned as he stared at the slip of paper. First Aid also looked troubled as he looked from the spark scans to the paper.

“Primus that was a nasty one,” Ironhide muttered. Jazz felt a shiver run up his spinal relay just thinking about that energon bath. One of the worst losses for the Autobots in recent history, almost forty percent of their forces had died on the field and another ten percent died after the fighting from injuries.

“Could a Decepticon have hacked her?” Jazz asked softly. “Soundwave and Shockwave both were at Sci, we still don’t know what Shockwave was doing there. If he knows anything about this code, he would’ve had plenty of medics to target.” First Aid shivered and scooted closer to Ratchet.

“No,” Ratchet answered, lifting his arm and letting his apprentice duck under it. The gesture was seamless like Ratchet didn’t even realize he’d done it. “The code fragments the moment our vitals drop below a certain point. Medics that come back from near misses need to reapply for new codes. No, the Decepticons couldn’t have gotten it after she passed and she would have deleted it if there was a chance of them taking it before she reached that point.”

“What if…” First Aid began hesitantly. Ratchet finally looked away from the slip at his apprentice. A raised optic ridge encouraged the small mech to continue. “Well, I mean, Sci was…they told us it was really bad.” First Aid looked down at the floor. Jazz didn’t think the young mech had been old enough to be accepted into Iacon Medical Academy when they’d gone through Sci. “I mean, did she have an apprentice? Because maybe…if she didn’t die outright from a mine or artillery…” Ratchet’s optic ridges pulled together as he thought about what his apprentice said, one hand absently stroking the young mech’s shoulder.

“Normally,” he said slowly. “I would say that is out of the question, but…” he turned around and minimized the scans of Red’s spark and instead with a few quick taps pulled up Red Wing’s death certificate. “Time of death is estimated, but it’s well within the height of the battle.”

“She had to know they were losing them a dozen at a time,” Jazz said. The medic nodded slowly with a pained look on his face. _The_ _Ark_ had been too far out to help with anything but clean up. Jazz couldn’t imagine what that had done to Ratchet. Jazz had been sick with every update they got from that battle.

“I can do a lot,” First Aid said in his quiet voice. “But only if the patient is awake and coherent enough to do what I say so I can access what I need.” Wide sky blue optics looked up at Ratchet as the medic stared at Red Wing’s death certificate.

“In that energon bath…” Ironhide rumbled.

“It might be callous to say, Ratch, but if she died at the peak she might’ve thought there wouldn’t be any survivors,” Jazz said softly. First Aid shivered again and pressed closer to Ratchet. “You woulda done the same thing, Ratchet, and you know it. Anything to give even one mech a fighting chance.”

Ratchet squeezed his optics shut for a second and then pulled up Red Wing’s personnel file. Skipping to a page his optics flicked over it until he pointed to a line. “Here,” he said. “She did have an apprentice. She was only a first vorn when Red Wing died.”

“First vorn, young.” Jazz didn’t know a lot about the medical apprenticeships, only that Ratchet usually had a handful of younger medics running around the bay helping with minor injuries and getting lessons from Ratchet and Hoist.

“She had no business being on the field,” Ratchet said, a scathing note of anger in his voice. “Red Wing should have evacuated her the moment she realized things were going straight to the Pit.”

“You think First Aid or Hoist would leave you?” Optimus asked. Ratchet sighed and the angry tension left his shoulders when he looked down at First Aid pressed tight against his side. “None of us will ever know what happened at Sci, perhaps she made a mistake, or perhaps her young apprentice was stubborn. But if there’s even a possibility that she gave that code to someone else, we need to find them.”

Ratchet pulled up another file with a femme that looked vaguely familiar with a sharp angular face and red and gold armor. Before he could start flipping First Aid said, “She’s here, her name is Morning Star.” They all looked at the apprentice in surprise and he blushed a little before ducking his head. “I met her the first orn we landed. I was getting a few supplies from the base bay and she was in there working on her accreditation study guide. She had a lot of questions about Takara.”

“She asked you about Takara?” Ratchet said, surprised. He glanced at the femme again. She was older than First Aid and from the dates under her picture she had been an apprentice during the Battle of Sci.

First Aid thought for a second, optics flicking left and right like he was reviewing every detail of the memory. “She didn’t know his name,” he said confidently. “But she knew there was a seekerling on board. She didn’t ask if it was true, just asked if we’d be bringing him down. Had a lot of questions about how long we’d had him and why and other questions about growth habits and cognitive development.” First Aid frowned. “It was…a really strange conversation.”

“How many of those questions did you answer, mechling?” Jazz asked, hiding a sigh. Young medics guarded medical files with their lives but they’d answer any other question asked of them. None of them had tasted enough of life’s bitter experiences to know when to keep their mouths shut. Ratchet shot him an annoyed look.

First Aid also gave him annoyed look. “None of them, I know Prowl is a secret. And she didn’t seem curious, she seemed…I don’t know. It felt strange when I was talking to her and I told her I had to help with setting a strut and left. I haven’t gone back since.”

Jazz held up his hands in surrender. “You’re also a very helpful little mech, First Aid, I just need to know who knew what and when ‘cause that lil’ femme talked to me an’ Blaster that first orn, too. Her and two frontliners.”

“The grumpy mech with the orange armor and the dark blue femme,” Blaster said. “They all asked about a seekerling. Not a sparkling, they specifically said _seekerling_.”

“I remember that, too. What time were you in the base bay, Aid?”

“Evening, I was on my way back from the dispensary when Hoist asked me to pick up some sterile wraps,” was the crisp response.

Jazz nodded slowly. “She tried to talk to us in the morning. You’re certain she said seekerling when you talked to her?”

First Aid nodded slowly. “It caught me off guard. There were a couple of the first vorns in the dispensary that had heard rumors of a sparkling, but she used seekerling.” He cocked his head to the side and Jazz waited patiently because it looked like the mech was thinking hard about something. After a breem, he added. “There was a dark blue femme in the bay talking with Morning Star when I came in. From preliminary scans she didn’t have any issues but I didn’t think anything else of it because she could’ve been in for a number of other reasons.” And once he’d verified the femme was overall healthy, he would’ve left her in the care of the older apprentice.

“Jubilee asked me yesterorn if Takara was still a secret when she came back from the base bay,” Ratchet said, drumming his blunt claws on the console. Optics flashing he glanced at Jazz. “A mech with orange armor talked to you that first orn?”

“Yeah, you meet him? He’s an aft,” Blaster said.

“No, but I’ve been watching for him. Jubilee said there was an orange mech in the med bay talking to one of the older apprentices when she went in and he also asked her strange questions about Takara. She was confused when she came back because the mech referred to him as Titan. She didn’t know if the rumor had evolved or if something had slipped out and been misheard.”

Blaster’s fins bristled and Steeljaw growled, baring his teeth. “That aft scare her?” Jubilee was one of Ratchet’s newest first vorns and still prone to homesickness. She and Blaster hailed from the same corner of Iacon and often spent the long joors of deep space travel talking about home. Jazz had sat with them a few times and slicked his fins back in annoyance. He didn’t like how the orange mech treated Morning Star when they met, he could only imagine how he’d been to a younger apprentice like Jubilee

Ratchet gave a rough laugh. “I know Jubilee seems delicate, Blaster, but she’s feisty as a cybercat and has an attitude to match Ironhide.” First Aid hid a laugh when Blaster blinked in surprise, even Steeljaw stopped growling and gave the medics an owlish look.

“You talk to her when she’s missing home and melancholy. Try arguing with her over best treatment practice for fevers in Kaonite frames,” First Aid giggled. Ratchet let out a long annoyed sigh while First Aid laughed harder.

“So, she’s not hiding in her room traumatized by that aft?” Jazz asked, also surprised by the turn of events.

Ratchet laughed, a rough laugh full of true humor. “I might even pity the mech if he annoys her again. I only wanted to talk to him to find out what he knew about the sparkling rumor and where the name Titan had come from.”

“Sounds like our best bet on finding that out is finding Morning Star,” Ironhide said.

“Blaster and I can pick her up, if she’s not in the bay, they’ll know how to contact her,” Jazz said glancing at the berth where Takara was still deep in his nap.

Ratchet closed out the files and gave First Aid’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ll come with you, I can verify on the spot if she has Red Wing’s code. If she doesn’t, we have a threat loose somewhere in this army.” He turned to First Aid. “Call Silverbolt down if Prowl wakes up and starts another fit. He has some experience with trauma responses in sparklings, he’ll be able to help.”

“Will the brig hold her if she has that code?” Jazz asked as they walked to the door. He was amazed at how little thought he’d put into medics and Ratchet’s code in particular. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d seen the senior medic crack into armor, bypassing any and all modifications to get to the damaged frames under it all. He’d never thought to question Ratchet, never second guessed him. Some mechs were leery of the young first vorns, but that was a matter of experience and not a trust issue. They still let the young mechs work on them, some with more complaints than others but within a vorn or two everyone on ship was comfortable with the young mechs popping dents, welding, and setting struts.

“Yes,” Ratchet said curtly. “She’s still young enough I can firewall it until Iacon gets the patch coded.”

Jazz shuddered. Eject swooped down and landed on Blaster’s shoulder. “Hey Ratch,” he asked with a troubled frown. “Have medics gone rogue before?”

Without losing stride and ice in his voice, Ratchet said, “Yes. If she were a fully licensed medic she would be running the risk of being deactivated right now. As it is now, she’ll have her medical programming and modifications removed and be blacklisted on every medical network Iacon Medical Academy has access to.”

Jazz almost tripped. “ _Deactivated?_ Primus, Ratch, that’s pretty fraggin’ extreme.”

“Jazz, a medic of my experience could cause a massacre on this base that would haunt our species until the end of time” Ratchet said flatly. “If the Do No Harm coding fails or if you get a mind twisted enough to work around it, how are you going to stop them? I can open any door, crack into any armor, cuffs can’t hold me. How do you stop me? Where could you hold me?”

Blaster hit the code for the airlock into the base with a frown. Jazz mulled over the problem as they stepped into the chaos of the base and finally shook his head. “I can’t think of anything,” he said softly.

“The reason apprenticeships are so long and strenuous,” Ratchet said, optics flashing as he looked mechs and femmes over, “is because we need to know without question that these young medics can handle the stress. That they can handle the grief. Sometimes they can’t. This isn’t a function for everyone. If they can’t handle it, they’re moved into programs more suited to their dispositions that keep them away from knowledge that could become deadly to them or to others.”

Since his episode in the hall, the base mechs had given Jazz a wider berth. He’d apologized to the ones he’d thrashed, but hard as he tried to feel bad about putting the fear of Primus and the Unmaker in them, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t mind the parting of the crowd now if it got him to where he needed to be faster. Given the deadly look on Blaster’s face and Ratchet being Ratchet, they might have been clearing the way for more than him

“Her entire apprenticeship will have to be reviewed.” Ratchet said with an angry snap of his cephalic fins. “If she’s flipped to the Decepticons there’s a chance she’s been cracking into others’ armor. With Red Alert’s glitch she probably wasn’t expecting the amount of security she had to get through. He could have woken before she was done and wiped whatever she was trying to get at.”

“So she took the cores,” Jazz finished.

“Fragging dangerous,” Ratchet hissed. “She could’ve compromised his spark matrix and shattered it then and there.” From the angry purple glow to his optics Jazz hoped Primus would have mercy on the young femme because it didn’t look like Ratchet would.

They reached the quiet med bay and swept in like the Unmaker. A couple of the medics recognized Jazz and not in a good way. As a general rule, medics didn’t like patching soldiers back together because of friendly fire, or mechs who used excessive force because someone got too close to their sparkling.

Ratchet was given respectful nods by the older apprentices and shy waves by the younger ones. The fury from the hall was hidden once more and their hard-as-nails medic softened a touch when he greeted the young apprentices.

“Alocasia,” Ratchet greeted a femme with an insignia on her left shoulder to match his. The base’s head medic. “You have a fourth vorn named Morning Star?” he asked.

“Yes, why?” she asked, glancing at a young medic practicing a sprain wrap on another apprentice.

“I think she has something that doesn’t belong to her,” Ratchet said softly. Alocasia frowned minutely, giving him her full attention but didn’t seem overly concerned by the news. The younger apprentices looked between the older medics with confused frowns. “An officer was attacked and hacked, Red Wing’s code was logged in his system.” Alocasia jumped like she’d been shot and then stilled. A collective gasp sucked all sound from the room.

The shock was gone in an instant and Alocasia’s amber optics hardened. “She’s off.” Her optics flashed a second. “At this time, she’s likely in the rec room with Talon and Ash, both frontliners.” Jazz had thought he could be scary when he was feeling dangerous but being in a room with two bristling medics had him reevaluating that. He and Blaster were heading for the door before Ratchet even turned around.

“Primus,” Blaster said when they were out. “I hope the little glitch just tells us what’s up because if that’s what she’s been working with there’s no way she breaks in interrogation.”

“You’d think working with you Ratchet nothin’ would get to us,” Jazz said in disbelief.

Ratchet snorted. “I may be killed by artillery or sniper fire, but bay medics must be prepared to evacuate patients if bases fall. I’ve never met one that wouldn’t face down a battalion of Decepticons with their bare hands if it meant getting their patients to safety.”

“Wait,” Blaster said with a frown. “Isn’t First Aid training to be a bay medic?” Ratchet didn’t answer but a razor sharp smile flashed across his face.

“All right, we don’t want a scene,” Jazz said as they approached the rec room. Scenes caused confusion and confusion was a damn good way for a target to get away.

“Your very presence is a scene,” Ratchet said, rolling his optics. Blaster stuck his glossa out at him as they walked into the crowded rec room. It took only a moment for Jazz and Blaster to have mechs and femmes calling them over. Ratchet didn’t look back but Jazz could feel his _I told you so_ in his silence.

Ratchet’s head swung left and he moved through the excitable crowd like a scalpel while Jazz and Blaster were bogged down with questions about the sparkling rumors. A break in the crowd revealed a corner table with the dark orange and grey mech, dark blue femme, and Morning Star’s red and gold armor.

The three saw them as they approached and the orange mech’s—Talon’s—plates bristled. Either he was trying to be intimidating or he didn’t have enough control to contain the response. Ratchet ignored it, his personal concern the young medic. Frontliners were a secondary matter.

“Come to beat on some more mechs?” Talon asked with scathing sarcasm when Jazz and Blaster came up behind Ratchet. Jazz kept his plates flat and his attention on the young femme. Morning Star looked up at Ratchet with the usual trepidation anyone had when they had a one-on-one conversation with the medic.

“Any reason you need a show of force today, mechs,” Ash the dark blue femme asked, optics narrowed and fins beginning a hostile bristle.

Ratchet ignore both frontliners and held out his hand palm up. “Code clearances, Morning Star.” More confusion but no fear as the femme put her smaller hand in his. Ratchet accessed a wrist port and his optics flashed once at the same time Morning Star yelped and tried to pull away.

Ash was on her feet in a second. “The frag are you doing?” she snapped, loud enough to draw attention. The beginning of a scene. Morning Star’s optics were pale with fear now and her intakes were unsteady.

“I’ll take that as a confirmation,” Jazz said. Keeping tabs on the quieting mechs in the room watching the scene. A wrong move from any of them could tip the room into trying to intervene. Jazz caught the slight shift in Ash’s weight a second before she lunged. Blaster caught her punch and used her momentum to throw her off her feet.

Ratchet didn’t glance at the scuffle next to him. “The code is contained. Let’s go, femmling.” Morning Star tried to twist loose but Ratchet was centicycles older and she didn’t do anything but twist herself into a pretzel. “You can either walk or you’ll go into stasis,” he said, none of the warmth or softness he often used with the young medics and apprentices in his voice. Blaster snapped cuffs on Ash and hauled her to her feet still trying to fight him.

Talon came across the table and hit Jazz like a loaded transport. He fell back and rolled with the momentum and was on his feet in a second. The heavy orange mech was too and Jazz used his smaller size to his advantage.

Tall mechs always expected smaller ones to go for their legs.

Jazz jumped on the table and caught Talon’s unprotected face with his shin. The mech flipped back and hit the ground hard and didn’t move. “Got her?” he asked Blaster. Blaster nodded and glowered at the femme when she tried to kick out his knee. Ratchet had both of Morning Star’s wrists in one hand so the femme couldn’t touch anyone as they pulled the three out of the room.

“I haven’t done anything,” Morning Star yelled as they filed into the ship brig. The juvenile had found her voice past shock and fear and had let everyone in the halls know her opinion on being detained. Having commed the Prime enroute, calmer mechs from _The Ark_ ’s security team briefed on the situation were working with Alocasia and her medics on diffusing the situation.

“I vehemently disagree,” Jazz grunted, sliding Talon through the doors and dropping him into a cell adjacent to Ash. Ash hissed at Blaster when he set her loose in her cell showing off some Ahnkmorish heritage in the sound. Steeljaw hissed back.

“Shut it,” Ratchet also hissed, but his brought silence to the room. Neither Ash nor Steeljaw had the vocalizers to fully replicate the plate raising sound of an angry Ahkmorish. Ratchet’s optics were skirting the line of purple once more and he set Morning Star on a bench, securing her hands in front of her and then to the bench itself.

Morning Star shivered but lifted her chin. “This isn’t fair, there’s a process you have to go through before you can drag me through the halls like some kind of criminal. This goes on my record! I could lose my apprenticeship.” Her voice shook but she glared at Ratchet.

“Red Wing’s code logged in the system of this army’s fourth in command is also going on your record, but you don’t seem too upset by that,” Ratchet deadpanned. Almost all color bled from Morning Star’s optics.

“I-I didn’t have a choice,” she said starting to get the panicky look again, optics darting to Talon first and then back at Ratchet. _Interesting_. She tested the cuffs and anchors on the bench before nervously tapping her feet.

“You should have deleted the code the moment the battle concluded,” Ratchet snapped, pulling a wrench out, one of his more obvious tells that someone was about to be thrashed. “Primus help her, she never should have given it to you to start with, but she thought she was doing some good. We can’t get away from the hard lessons even in death.” He crossed his arms and tapped the wrench in his hand against his arm.

Optical fluid filled Morning Star’s optics. “You don’t know anything! You weren’t there. I _did_ help. I did everything I could, I _helped_.” Her optics flickered to Ash this time and Jazz watched all three. Neither of the femmes had given Talon much attention. Ash was still growling, her anger focused on Ratchet.

“No, I wasn’t,” Ratchet conceded without raising his voice. “I wasn’t there to help my friend. And maybe if I had been, we wouldn’t be here now, but nothing useful has ever been done with What-Ifs. What’s happening now is that you used a code given to you in desperation and good faith and used it to hack into an officer of this army and when you couldn’t get information that way you used a procedure you’re still decacycles away from being cleared to practice to get what you wanted.” As he spoke Morning Star’s angry tears dried and panic returned. Her shaking started at her hands and spread across her frame.

“Leave her alone,” Ash snapped, fins fully raised. “She didn’t take anything!”

“So you two just like to attack and hack officers for the fun?” Blaster said with a raised optic. “I think we’ll put that on your record too.” Morning Star tried to get her hands loose again and her intakes were unsteady. From the flash of Ratchet’s optics, he was likely monitoring her spark pulse. As always, ready to help.

“Stop talking, Morning Star,” Ash snarled. “They’re trying to scare you. Stop talking and they can’t get you for anything.” The words had a note of warm encouragement and Jazz caught the quick flash of Ratchet glancing at Ash and back to Morning Star.

“I didn’t take anything important,” Morning Star pleaded.

“But you did take something,” Jazz said coldly. Morning Star cowered back on the bench and tried to pull her hands loose again, intakes accelerating and heat beginning to shimmer on her frame. Jazz frowned a little as he watched the femme. This wasn’t the usual fear he saw in questioning. This was terror, this was panic.

Ratchet turned his attention on Ash, optics royal purple and the wrench keeping a slow steady beat as it tapped against his arm. “How long have you been helping her hide this?” he asked, voice without the raspy hiss he often used but silky smooth and all the more dangerous for it. Blaster shifted his weight back a little.

Ash lifted her chin defiantly. “She’s a good medic. She saved more lives than you at Sci,” she spat. “She gets scared sometimes, we all do. There’s not a thing wrong—”

“This,” Ratchet hissed, “You think this is all right? You think there’s nothing wrong with _this?_ She’s one stressor away from her programming collapsing her processor, you think this is okay. She should’ve gone into an intensive remediation program before being put back into apprenticeship.” Ash’s defiance began to fade as she glanced from Ratchet to Morning Star who was starting to look a lot like Red Alert when the bad glitches got him. Intakes stuttering, heat shimmering off her frame, and optics washed out ice blue. “There’s no helping her, her medical programming and modifications will be removed now to save what’s left of her mind. She’s likely to have seizures, degenerative memory fade, processor fragmentation. Every moment you let this progress you took centicycles off her life. She’ll be lucky to make it to middle age.”

Ash backed up until she hit the cell wall. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

Ratchet stalked closer to the cell, “So tell me, why was it so important you have a medic loyal to you that you let her tear herself apart. What did you take? What was it that was worth her life?” Ratchet’s optics flashed true red, a hiss underlying every guttural word. Ash looked like she might purge her tanks.

Talon stirred. “Mute it, Star, Ash. Least one of ‘em’s in on it,” he slurred, he was either too scrambled to notice Morning Star having a full glitch episode or he didn’t care. “Primus, my face.”

“I promise, no one’ll know the difference,” Jazz said icily. The predator honed in on Talon, the odd mech out. Ash and Morning Star were a unit of sorts, how deep the loyalties went on both sides was up for debate, but the two seemed to have some kind of trauma bond. Neither had given Talon much attention even though he’d come in the most injured.

The mech glowered up at him. “You’re the one,” Talon snapped sounding more coherent with every word. “XOps, probably wasn’t hard for you to snag a sparkling.” Jazz canted his head but didn’t answer. “You know, medic, how you got that sparkling? What story did Red give ya’?” Ratchet snapped his attention to Talon and the mech had the good sense to recoil a little.

“I don’t know the mechanics, but I am well aware of how we got that sparkling,” Ratchet snapped. Jazz might’ve laughed if he’d been in a better mood. Ratchet returned to Morning Star and crouched in front of her. Taking her shaking hands into his he accessed her wrist port again and a few seconds later the young femme dropped into stasis.

Jazz’s spark hurt for the femmling. She did look a lot like Red Alert when he was too stressed, when the panic set in too deep. Prowl was always good at pulling him back enough Ratchet could put him under for a few joors until his processor untangled itself.

“Is there anything you can do, Ratch?” Blaster asked softly.

Ratchet held his hand over Morning Star’s spark. “No,” was the curt response. “I’m guessing she’s been pilfering low doses of sedatives to stay level throughout the orn and to keep her spark steady enough to not set off any alarms.” He shot a deadly glare at Ash who sank to the floor with her head in her hands. “I’m sure if she was the primary caretaker for a frontliner often injured it wouldn’t arouse suspicion if she was often in the supply room getting more.” Ash shrank in on herself even more.

Jazz kept his focus on Talon, the predator in him flexing its claws. What was interrogation but coerced gossip? This was his playground and Talon didn’t have half the experience or wits to survive it. “How do you know Red Alert? And how do you know him well enough to call him Red?” he asked conversationally. The frontliner blinked a few more times and lifted his lip in an angry snarl. Jazz smiled down at him, all teeth and no warmth. “Should’ve been watching your own mouth instead of hers, now answer the question before I show you how XOps gets information.” Angry, defiant, not scared in the least. Either Talon didn’t think Jazz would follow through on the threats or he had a powerful ace tucked away.

“Jazz, that’s not necessary,” Optimus said striding into the brig. He looked at Morning Star, unconscious and out of the game while Ratchet stood guard next to her glowering at Ash. “Status, Ratchet?” Optimus asked in a softer voice.

“Alocasia has been briefed, she’s making the necessary connections,” Ratchet answered not looking away from Ash who was doing her best to sink through the floor.

Jazz continued watching Talon, the mech hadn’t asked for an update on Morning Star, hadn’t even really looked at her. “This is all about you,” Jazz said, cocking his head to the side and running a deep scan on Talon’s frame. It was invasive, similar to a medical scan and well outside the bounds of common detention courtesy. Talon recoiled and snarled at him again.

“Jazz! They are not enemies, stand down.” The order grated against his armor but he backed away from the orange mech and glared at Ash instead who would be the next most willing to talk. Her guilt over Morning Star was palpable. Guilt made mechs easier to break. “Jazz,” the warning tone made him lift his lip in a snarl but he smoothed his features and returned his now passive face to Talon.

“Looks like your dog needs a shorter chain,” the orange mech said from the floor of his cell. Despite the defiant snarl in his voice he still shook himself over once to dislodge the feel of the scan.

“I haven’t even left my dog house,” Jazz said evenly. He had the scans of Talon’s frame. As far as regular frontliners went he had the usual hidden compartments, but nothing like Jazz had. No significant modifications, no overt tracking chips or attached information relays. His scans didn’t penetrate exoforms, that was strictly a medical grade modification, but given Talon didn’t have any of the usual modifications or upgrades, Jazz didn’t think there was anything else to find.

“I will ask you once,” Optimus said ignoring the exchange, his attention on Ash and Talon. Jazz was limited to vague threats and no physical contact and he would obey that order unless provoked beyond reason. “Why did you attack Red Alert, security director for this army.”

Ash’s head shot up. “Red…Alert? Red Alert?” She was on her feet in a second and a breath away from the bars separating her from Talon. “That was _Red Alert!_ ”

“Never take a job ‘til you know the details,” Jazz said, watching the two of them. Ash would talk. 

“So, you knew the details when you stole that sparkling,” Talon snarled, louder than necessary. A reminder. The lie that had secured Ash’s cooperation and subsequently roped in young Morning Star. Jazz blinked slowly, the _how_ of the attack slowly coming together but the _why_ was still fuzzy. Everyone gave Talon their full attention as the frontliner finally sat up and wiped the energon leaking from his nasal ridge on the back of his hand while he glared at Jazz. “You think no one was going to notice their fragging sparkling was missing?” he spat. “Or were you hopin’ the Decepticons wouldn’t leave survivors.”

“Soldier, Talon,” Optimus said with a trace of bewilderment. “I have no idea where you’re getting these accusations but whatever you’ve heard is not true.” He didn’t glance at Jazz but Jazz gave a minute shake of his head. This was the first he’d heard this ugly rumor.

“Why, because a fragging Polyhex says it’s not?” Talon snapped. “And a fraggin’ XOps Poly at that, I wouldn’t trust ‘im if he said ‘good morning’.” Jazz raised an optic ridge and caught Ash’s cephalic fins flip straight up and she bared fangs longer than Jazz’s. Likely a modification like the Twins had. No love lost between her and Talon.

“ _Jazz_ ,” Optimus said with emphasis, “is currently acting as my second in-command with Prowl recovering from injuries. I do take his word quite seriously.” Jazz didn’t move, watching every intake Talon took, waiting for the lies that would come. Blaster managed to flip a rude gesture and bare his teeth at the orange glitch with only Ratchet catching it. The CMO glared at him but didn’t call it out. “Now where in Primus’ name did you hear Takara had been stolen?”

“Ask your attack dog,” the Talon hissed.

“No, _you_ answer the fragging question, Talon,” Ash snarled, a hiss coming through the words. It wasn’t as apparent as Ratchet’s, but still there and angry. “We been through Pit together and I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you didn’t tell me how you knew he’d been stolen when I asked. But now it’s Morning Star on the line and I’ll put you straight into a sun before I let any of your glitched rumors hurt her anymore.” Optics a deadly shade of purple, she looked like she was ready to take the hit from the laser bars and try to tear Talon’s spark out herself.

For the first time, Talon seemed to realize he didn’t have an ally in Ash. Jazz’s optics flicked to Ash. This was the planner. She was the one who had coordinated their strengths well enough to take Red Alert by surprise. Talon had relied on their history together to keep Ash on his side.

“I got a transmission from an old buddy, said something was off on a Decepticon raid. They’d picked up echoes of an Autobot signal and traced it back to a dropship.” Talon glared at Ash and then at the Prime.

Jazz lifted his optic ridges. “That’s it? That’s all it took for you to coordinate and launch an attack against the Autobot Security Director. Did they say when the raid happened? Did they say where the raid happened? Did they say how big the raiding party was? Casualties? Did they even have a fragging good reason for _why_ a raid had happened?”

Talon didn’t flinch, still defiant. Still some kind of ace-in-the-hole he thought he could pull. “He didn’t need to tell me any of that. I got Red in his own words.” He played back a soundbite with an unfamiliar voice followed Red Alert’s cold clipped tone.

_You’re not his sire._

_Neither are you._

Jazz rebooted his audios and optics. He couldn’t deny that second voice was Red’s. It was colder than a Kaonite winter, but it was Red’s. He placed the first voice as soon as Steeljaw hissed. “That glitch! He doctored the transmission,” Blaster growled.

This could complicate things. The mech had a legitimate transmission that carried Autobot encryption that could be traced directly back to _The Ark_. They were stuck in between a smelter and hard place because they couldn’t reveal what had happened to Prowl without putting his young life in jeopardy.

“He’s been glitched worse than Morning Star for an eon,” Talon snarled. Ash took the hit from the laser bars and caught Talon’s shoulder with a solid punch. The shock flung her to the other side of her cell, but Jazz was guessing she’d think the pain worth it. Talon staggered and almost hit his laser bars face first but recovered and took two steps back. “He let his sparkling die and now he’s lost his last microchip of sanity he stole someone else’s. _And you helped!_ ” he yelled at Jazz, optics purpling.

“Blaster, play that back, did I hear that right?” Jazz said mildly. Blaster replayed what the orange mech had said and Jazz rubbed his audios. “I must be glitchin’ because I could swear he says Red Alert killed a sparkling.”

“Hatchet, I need a processor defrag, ‘cause I heard the same thing,” Blaster said. “And, did he say Red hurt _his_ sparkling?” Blaster and Jazz both looked at each other. Jazz would be the first to admit he didn’t know a lot about Red Alert, but a mech having a spark mate and a subsequent sparkling was something that usually came up in conversation.

“Red Alert doesn’t have and hasn’t had a bond mate, it’s impossible for him to have had offspring,” Ratchet said in a bored tone like he was reciting something from a medical text for a juvenile.

The orange mech stopped glowering at Jazz and looked at the CMO in genuine surprise. “What? What do you mean? He had a bond mate. He had a _spark_ mate. It should be…he couldn’t have joined without telling anyone.” He looked at the others in the room but Jazz and Blaster both shrugged and Optimus shook his head once. “No! He did,” the mech argued louder. “It was me, I was Red’s pit-cursed spark mate, it’s in my file.”

“Blaster?” Jazz asked again. He played the audio back and they both looked at each other.

“Primus, I might purge. How bad does a glitch have to be before we’re put on medical leave?” Blaster asked Ratchet. “Because I’m pretty sure this insufferable piece of scrap just said he was Red Alert’s spark mate.”

Jazz lifted his fins and raised his optic ridges in exaggerated surprise. “If taking a mech home after last call counts as a sparking ceremony, I’ve got bond mates all over. Ratchet’ll have to install a patch.” Blaster coughed a laugh and Optimus gave him a warning look.

The orange mech’s optics flared furious periwinkle. “Look in my file,” he snarled. “I told the fragging truth.”

“Yeah, you’ve been nothin’ but honest so far,” Blaster said nodding. “I’m sure Ash would agree.” The femme gave a weak growl and cracked an optic open. Despite the fragged up situation, Jazz found himself warming to the femme.

“Blaster, Jazz, if I have to remove you from the room, I will,” Optimus said with promise. Both mechs sighed but closed their mouths.

Ratchet tapped a screen on the wall and a personnel database search appeared. He was skimming through Talon’s file in seconds, optics scanning over it with practiced ease. “You did disclose at enlistment that you _had_ a spark mate. The note here says he died.” Ratchet closed out of the database and started his slow tap with the wrench once more, a sure sign he was one mouthy comment away from scrambling someone’s processor.

Talon flinched, “All right, I lied about that.” Blaster opened his mouth but a sharp look from Optimus made him close it. “But I was—I was _mad_ and I was done with him after what he did. I didn’t want the questions about it and I didn’t want it in my fraggin’ file as a reminder. It was pretty well faded by then anyway and no one questioned it.” Blaster continued sulking with his arms crossed and Jazz was watching Talon sharply. That sounded like the truth. An effective solution but without thought out consequences; impulsive. It fit with what he’d gleaned about the mech from their questioning.

“You’re claiming your dead spark mate is Red Alert and that after _killing_ his sparkling he’s now recruited Jazz to help him steal another one,” Ratchet said with his arms crossed. Talon hesitated before he nodded and Jazz bit his lip to hold in a laugh. Scary as the base bay medics were, Ratchet the Hatchet had a reputation that spanned the universe. “And your only proof of this logic defying theory is a two second transmission from an ‘old buddy’ from an undisclosed location that claims Red Alert either staged or tagged along on a Decepticon raid all while he was somehow still maintaining his presence on _The Ark_.” For the first time, Talon looked like he was doubting the story he’d been fed. His anger at Red Alert had allowed him to skip over the details, but with Ratchet laying everything out the absurdity of it couldn’t be denied.

Blaster rubbed his optics. “Prime, this is like living in one of those campy orn-time holovid shows Cliffjumper and Gears swear they don’t watch.”

Jazz snorted and shook his head. “We’ll check quarters for the cores. Once that’s locked down we’ll see what the next plot twist is.” Blaster laughed as he followed Jazz out. Jazz kept an audio on Talon and heard a quiet but defiant growl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm trying to keep up with responding to all reviews but sometimes existential dread overwhelms me. I do love seeing how much everyone is enjoying this whether it's your first time reading or your fifth! :)


	8. Bonds that Make Us

Jazz and Blaster slipped through the halls like ghosts. Jazz had the advantage of activating his camouflage but Blaster had to rely on Steeljaw’s nose and Eject’s sharp optics for scouting and soon fell behind.

Security was already at Talon’s quarters. Searchlight didn’t jump, but he did blink several times when Jazz appeared. “Sorry, mech. Can’t hardly take two steps on this base without someone askin’ me somethin’,” he told the younger mech.

Searchlight gave him a curt nod of understanding. “Found the cores stashed in Talon’s footlocker.” Jazz rolled his optics, but the easy and obvious hiding place fit with what he’d learned in interrogation. “They’ve been sent to medical to confirm they’re from Red Alert and we haven’t found any others.”

“Keep a sharp optic out, but I don’t know that we will. This was a personal attack about Takara, not somethin’ that had to do with the war,” Jazz said. Searchlight’s already severe face frowned harder.

“Disturbing. We found sparkling blocks in the footlocker as well, next to the cores. You can confirm they’re the ones missing from Red Alert’s quarters?” Searchlight had a description of them, but the mech had been working under Red Alert for a centicycle and had picked up on the twitchy mech’s verification habits.

Jazz’s fins slicked back and he lifted a lip. “Yes. Primus, I’d give anything to thrash that glitch from one side of the brig to the other.” Taking a deep diving breath he let it out slow. He could be angry later, right now he couldn’t have it clouding his processor. Pieces were beginning to click together, but in XOps the puzzle could change in a spark pulse.

Blaster finally caught up to him and lightly bumped his shoulder. “Good mech?” he asked softly. Jazz nodded and led the younger mech into the room.

Talon hadn’t worked on making things cozy. Everything was standard issue steel grey. No knickknacks, no pictures, no plants. “Looks like a detention cell,” Blaster said looking around. “A damn shame, I was hopin’ he’d be more uncomfortable down there.”

Jazz snorted a laugh and scanned the room looking for any hidden compartments in the walls, floor, or ceiling. Nothing came up on his scans and Steeljaw signaled he hadn’t found anything either. “Hired help,” Jazz said mostly to himself. Talon wasn’t setting off any alarms that he was anything more than he appeared: a loud mouth frontliner with more cables than processor. “But someone knew he had history with Red Alert.” That was the part he needed to figure out. His optics snagged on the footlocker. Security had it emptied and tidily spread out to be catalogued but sitting on top of the box were five familiar blocks.

“I know the mech doesn’t come across as the quickest circuit, but if he joined about the same time as Red he’s been on the frontlines for centicycles. He’s not a total glitch,” Blaster said in an unusually serious tone. “He’s got battlefield smarts. I think he did get that transmission from an old buddy or he would’ve had more questions.” Jazz nodded slowly as he turned over Blaster’s words. Blaster watched Jazz pick up the blocks one by one and rearrange them. “That’s how he got Ash roped into things, she’s smarter than him, but that battlefield loyalty and trust runs deep.”

“My mech,” Jazz said softly, picking up the first block again and looking at the Gyish letters. “You read Gyish?” Jazz could speak the Standards and at least one other popular dialect in each city-state’s language, but he’d never put in as much effort with written languages. As long as he had a second or two to look at something, he could copy anything from memory. It was spoken word that was harder to capture and that’s what he’d turned his resources to.

Blaster nodded, “Sure, why?” Optics bright with curiosity he stood next to Jazz at the footlocker looking at the blocks.

“Do those spell TITAN?” Jazz asked.

Blaster stilled and then sucked in a breath. “Didn’t Ratchet say—”

“Talon asked Jubilee about a sparkling named Titan.” Jazz picked up one of the blocks. The paint was faded and chipped and the metal scratched where it shone through.

“There’s no way, Jazzy,” Blaster said. “There’s no way anything that glitch said about Red is true.”

Jazz pinned his fins back. “Red sure as pit never hurt a sparkling. I’d put my spark on that. But mech, there are no coincidences in XOps. Talon was lookin’ for a sparkling named Titan and is convinced Red Alert kidnapped him to replace one that died. These _are_ the blocks Takara’s been playing with when he’s with Red.”

Blaster picked Steeljaw up and held him against his chest with both arms. “Ratch could find out,” Blaster said after a moment. “If Red _or_ Talon ever had a sparkling, there’d be records right? Hospital records or something?”

Jazz nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ll message him. Whether or not he decides to tell the rest of us what he finds will be somethin’ else altogether,” he sighed and tilted his head back. Ratchet being Ratchet could very well decide that those files were still protected under patient confidentiality. Scooping the blocks into his hands, Jazz tucked them into a hip compartment. “Searchlight, I got the blocks, scene is clean from my end,” he said to the younger mech as they left the room.

Searchlight watched a mech amble by, rubber necking until he caught Searchlight’s flinty optics and then his pace improved. Searchlight didn’t speak until he was down the hall, another habit he’d probably picked up from Red Alert. “No other spark cores have been found. We’ll start wrapping up.” Searchlight was now staring hard at the room but Jazz could tell the younger mech’s thoughts were elsewhere. “When this is over, I would like to know what Red Alert could’ve done to inspire this level of anger.” Well honed anger clipped each word. He stepped through the doorway to help his mechs clean the scene.

Jazz watched the young mech go in surprise. Searchlight wasn’t a verbose mech like him or Blaster and he tended to keep feelings and opinions locked down tight. His unflappable calm often reminded Jazz of Prowl. He knew Prowl could get angry, had seen that icy calm façade melt down a couple of times— _not_ his fault—and was always amazed that their polite SIC knew how to swear in that many languages. Searchlight though, he’d never seen so much as annoyed. No matter what charged up glitching trouble mechs got into Searchlight was there with Red Alert; quiet, professional, and calm. A few more centicycles under Red Alert and he would be as much a force of nature as his mentor. Jazz opened his mouth to say something and then shut it and messaged the young mech instead, _He’ll be okay, Searchlight._ Searchlight glanced back and for a second his face lost some of its seriousness and he looked younger, stressed. But he gave a slight nod and was soon back to work. 

On their way to the med bay back to _The Ark_ , a few halls away from Talon’s room Jazz asked Blaster, “Has anyone really checked in on the security mechs in the last couple orns?” Searchlight’s anger had him feeling off-balance every few steps. He’d never seen a crack in the mech. But stress did things to mechs and they didn’t always cope in predictable ways. Red Alert was their Senior Security Officer the way Ratchet was their Chief Medical Officer. Jazz was ashamed to realize he’d never considered how security would react to Red Alert’s injuries. Everyone knew when Ratchet got hurt to handle the youngest medics with a little more care, to keep their voices a little softer, and words gentler. He didn’t think anyone had given the same consideration to security.

Blaster gave Jazz a quizzical look. “Nah, don’t think so? Why?”

Jazz sighed. “I need Prowl and Red back, ASAP, mech. I’m fraggin’ awful with keeping up with all these little things.” He’d shared duties with other officers when Prowl had been out with injuries, but never for an extended period of time. His own job and responsibilities had him in and out of the ship so much sometimes he wasn’t available if Prowl or Red Alert were off the roster.

Primus, he still had to get shifts worked out for the next septorn.

And he hadn’t thought to check in on the younger mechs in security to make sure they were okay. He hadn’t even recognized Morning Star’s glitch until Ratchet spelled it out for him. “Ion’t understand how this can be more difficult than slagging XOps, mech,” he groaned.

“Jazzy, you’re fine.” Blaster rolled his optics. “Oh, Firestar asked me this morning if you have shifts for next septorn done.”

Jazz narrowed his optics at the younger mech who laughed and put an arm around his shoulders. “No one expects you to be Prowl, Jazz. Pit, I think it’s done some of these glitches some good seeing what kind of chaos vortex their lives would be without ‘im.”

“Thanks for that winning pep talk, Blaster-mech. I’m feeling _much_ better.” Jazz tried to stay annoyed but Blaster’s loud laugh had a smile tugging a corner of his mouth up.

_Red Alert is awake_ Ratchet’s message went to all command staff. Jazz activated his camouflage at the same time Eject took flight to scout ahead. Blaster branched off down a different hall but Jazz continued forward, hugging the wall and slipping past two mechs with them none the wiser.

Jazz arrived first to find Red Alert still prone on his back but his bright blue optics were online, if blurred from medication. “Red, buddy, glad to see you back online,” Jazz said softly. Red Alert blinked slowly and turned his head in the direction of Jazz’s voice. Jazz kept still and didn’t try to touch him while he was disoriented. That was a good way to get a pair of horns to the face. Red Alert did _not_ like being touched when he wasn’t fully awake.

With one exception.

Takara was still sound in recharge snuggled close to the older mech’s warm frame, wings flicking intermittently with dreams. Sending a soft pulse of reassurance, Jazz reached out to run gentle fingers down one of Takara’s wing.

“He’s not quite coherent, but the damage done to his spark was extensive. The pain will have him thrashing if he comes fully online,” Ratchet said, optics glowing while he ran a scan. “Keep the questions simple.” He shifted his focus to the sparkling when Takara made a soft sound and lifted a wing to glower at the two noisy adults interrupting his nap. A smile twitched the corners of Ratchet’s mouth and he said something in his native dialect that sounded suspiciously like sparkling talk.

Jazz gave the cantankerous medic a hard side optic and asked, “How’s Morning Star?” He kept most of his attention on Red Alert’s sluggish uncoordinated movements. It was always disconcerting seeing either Prowl or Red Alert off their game. The two were such titans when they were awake and themselves sometimes even Jazz forgot that Red Alert wasn’t that much taller than him. The Gyish was broader and heavier than Jazz’s slight Polyhexian frame but standing toe to toe, Red Alert was only a few hands taller than Jazz. Laid out and drugged up, even that small height advantage seemed less. “I hate seein’ ‘em messed up, Ratch. We got to get our mechs back.”

Ratchet sighed softly without the faint rasp of hiss that often underscored that sound. “Morning Star will get the help she needs but there’s too much damage done for her to ever return to being a medic.”

Blaster came in at that moment looking more exasperated than the young mech usually let show. “Animals,” he huffed. “All of ‘em. Ratchet, I’mma borrow a wrench when I leave here, maybe that’ll keep the glitches off me.” Ratchet’s rough laugh brought a smile to Jazz’s face as well. It was hard to get a real laugh out of the medic. The Twins—for all their glitching around—and Blaster were the best at pulling them out of him. And while Wheeljack drove the medic glitchy, there was a different kind of amusement in that relationship that even in the medic’s darkest moods always came through.

Blaster softened his voice and leaned against Jazz when he came up to the berth. “Hiya, Red. Those young mechs you got in security are doin’ you proud.” Takara made another grumpy sound and very pointedly stood up and turned a circle before resnuggling himself into his wings with a loud huff.

“I swear he does that to me when I try to talk to him while he’s reading,” Blaster said watching the sparkling.

Red Alert’s optics flashed like he was coming back to himself but just as quickly, it faded again. “Make it quick, Jazz,” Ratchet said in his usual brusque tone. “If he starts fighting he’s going right back under.” 

“Red Alert, do you know who attacked you?” Jazz asked, infusing the gentle tone with an expectation of answer. Primus love them both, but Red Alert and Prowl were glitchy enough to give full debriefs while they were leaking like a sieve. Even on a fair amount of drugs and disoriented, Red Alert could give them something to work with.

Red Alert’s optics started to dim and Ratchet’s narrowed but the red and grey mech pulled himself back. “Protect,” Red Alert mumbled. “Protect.”

Jazz’s spark gave an unexpected squeeze and his voice didn’t have the same commanding note as before. “You did, Red. You always do.”

“What are you protecting?” Ratchet asked, optics narrowed like they got when he was looking over scans. Jazz watched the medic with his own narrow opticked look. Ratchet hadn’t said anything about going through Red Alert’s files, hadn’t even acknowledged the request.

“Protect. Protect. Protect.”

Ratchet sighed and rubbed his optics. “That’s the glitch lingering. The trauma and attack must’ve kept him from recharging it off like he usually does.” Reaching out, he took one of Red Alert’s limp hands and accessed his wrist port. In a few breems Red Alert’s whispered litany trailed off and he was in recharge once more. “We can try to cycle him up a bit tomorrow evening, but he’s not coming online again until then.”

“I thought his glitch was paranoia?” Blaster said softly, unfamiliar sadness in his optics.

Ratchet sighed and Jazz didn’t think the medic would say any more than that until he continued. “It manifests as paranoia, but the root of it is a disruption in his core coding, the same thing everyone on this ship has been dealing with since they were introduced to Takara. It’s that unrelenting, driving need to protect that starts him spinning out worst case scenarios and how to counter those and then worst case scenarios from there and their counters and it continues to spiral out more and more.”

“Primus, no wonder it knocks him on his aft,” Jazz said. Even with the blips of _PROTECT_ coming less often and with less force, he was still ready to nap for a joor or two every time it happened.

“He gets…he gets glitchy like that ‘cause he’s…worried?” Blaster whispered. “Worried about us?” Ratchet gave the young mech a tired but gentle look and didn’t answer.

“Core coding disruption,” Jazz said, leaning against the berth since Red was knocked out. “Could something like that come from a traumatic loss?” He was in dicey territory with Ratchet and patient confidentiality, but he was thinking since the medic had more fully explained Red Alert’s glitch to Blaster that he was willing to keep talking.

The silence stretched out and Ratchet finally sighed and leaned against the other side of the berth. “Yes.” Long fingers strong enough to clamp a broken line but gentle enough to handle burns stroked down Takara’s wings while the mechling recharged.

Jazz felt the word bounce around in his processor. There was no way any word of Talon’s story was true. Maybe Jazz had left the question too open ended. He’d only asked if it was possible. That was a generic enough question, something one of the first vorns might ask. But, no, it had taken Ratchet too long to get that word out. There was too much pain, too much weariness in the old medic.

Medic.

Red Alert’s medical files were sealed and Jazz wouldn’t risk his life to hack them, but bonding certificates were public record; medics were used at Witnesses to make sure everything went smoothly. Jazz launched into the public records of Red Alert’s home county in Gygax. Having both Red Alert’s name and Talon’s, it took only seconds to find it. Blaster’s vents hiccuped a second before Jazz’s stuttered.

He couldn’t read all of it but he knew Red Alert’s handwriting, knew his signature and found the official seals in the code. It was real. Talon really had been Red Alert’s bondmate. Jazz hesitated a second, but, stalling had never made hard things easier. He had Red Alert’s name and thanks to Talon, he had the name of a sparkling: Titan.

It took too long and not nearly long enough for the search to come back with photo of a sparkling the spitting image of Red Alert, right down to the tiny bumps on his head that would have grown into knife-like horns. There were only a couple lines written beneath the picture in Gyish and Jazz sent it through a translator: _Awaiting the touch of a little hand, and the smile of a little face_

Hands starting to shake, Jazz found the photo attached to a larger article with hundreds of other faces and hundreds of other lines of sorrow and grief. The aftermath of a Decepticon raid. Without thinking, he reached out and curled his fingers around Red Alert’s.

“He just up and left him,” Blaster whispered, horrified. “Talon joined up not even a vorn after the attack, _decacycles_ before Red. He just…left.”

Jazz couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine the pain Red Alert must have been in when they lost Titan, but then when the one mech he should’ve been able to lean on to share the burden of grief left him; _blamed_ him. And what had Talon said in interrogation, that Red Alert had been glitchy for centicycles? The beginnings of the glitch must have been there, the instability that could now drop him for an orn and Talon had left him. “That’s not what bonds are for,” Jazz whispered, tightening his fingers on Red Alert’s. “They’re not something you have when it’s convenient, when things are good. They’re supposed to be there when it’s not easy, when it’s not okay.”

He had been young when his Grandsire’s spark faded, but he could remember the weight of grief from his creator pressing on his spark. So heavy it felt like it would sink him to the bottom of the pond if he tried to swim. He remembered how the whole pond came together, each one of them reaching out and taking some of the pain until it no longer felt like it would drown him. Even now, the bonds faded by war, by distance, Jazz knew if he reached out to his Pond so far away and scattered across the stars that they would reach back. He would never have to carry sorrow on his own.

Red Alert didn’t have a Pond, didn’t have anyone to help him carry the drowning weight of grief. It wasn’t really a conscious thought to reach out to Red Alert through Takara’s shared bond with them. It was more instinct borne by the bedrock knowledge that no one should ever be alone. He felt the tendrils of Red Alert’s spark; fierce, steadfast. He didn’t reach out fully like he had with Takara. Sparklings were trusting, their young sparks malleable and able to bond with anyone who to took the initiative to reach out. Adults were different. Adults knew pain, knew dishonesty, knew they could be hurt. So Jazz didn’t reach, but left the channel open. If Red Alert rejected it, he’d pull back and neither one would be any different than before. He was hoping, though, their twitchy security director would accept. Beneath the fierceness, the unwavering perseverance of a mech that had survived the worst were underlying bitter notes of pain. The pain wasn’t new, wasn’t something Jazz thought Takara was even aware of anymore, but it was there in every pulse of Red Alert’s spark.

“The spark bond was never nullified, was it,” Jazz said, feeling an echo of the same pain in his own spark. Unlike the quiet, natural, fading of his Grandsire’s spark, his creators had died in a Decepticon raid. Their sparks snuffed out before any of them could say goodbye. Broken bonds left scars and there wasn’t a spark left that didn’t know the pain.

Ratchet pushed himself up, his broad shoulders bowed for a moment before the medic pulled them back. “No,” he said in something close to a regular tone. “I’m guessing Talon actively rejected the bond and then joined the Autobots to get distance to fade it faster.”

“That would _hurt_.” Blaster recoiled from Ratchet’s words. “Red was already hurting and you think he pushed back on it; pushed him away? How could he do something like that?”

Ratchet reached over and gently stroked the younger mech’s cheek. “Some mechs aren’t worth the scrap you can get from them,” he said softly. Blaster, for all his loud mouth and bluster, leaned into the touch like a sparkling.

“The Twins asked me to let them know if we found out who hurt Red,” Jazz said. “Sideswipe said they’d feed them their spark. I’ve got half a processor to let Talon’s name slip and send security to their berths early.”

Ratchet returned to his normal programming and gave Jazz an annoyed look. “The compromised bond has likely weakened his spark matrix, make it look like a spark seize and you won’t have to fill out paperwork.” He turned to the door a second before it opened admitting some of the first vorns. “Over there mechlings, we’ll do a review first and then try some practice.” The young medics waved shyly at Jazz and Blaster as they filed over to where they were to start their lesson. Ratchet followed them without looking back.

Jazz and Blaster watched the medic go with wide optics. “You ever wonder…” Blaster asked softly.

“If his Do No Harm is glitchy? Every fraggin’ orn.” Jazz flashed the younger mech a toothy smile. “But I’ll be sent to the pit if he doesn’t have some good advice.”

Blaster’s answering grin was just as ruthless.

Jazz didn’t consider himself an energon thirsty mech by nature, only by occupation. But it took every scrap of self-control as they slipped out of the med bay to not glide back down to the brig and put Talon into an unfortunate accident.

“Takara’ll be okay in there a little longer?” Blaster asked. “Lil’ mech still doesn’t like the med bay.”

“Can’t blame ‘im for that,” Jazz answered. “But nah, he’ll be all right. He’s rechargin’ deep and I’ll feel it when he starts to cycle up.” For now, Jazz led the way to his rarely used office.

Automatic dampeners and security systems clicked on as soon as the door was shut. Red Alert, Jazz, Prowl, and Blaster had worked on the automatic security for his office for over a vorn. The information Jazz worked in was life and death for not just individual mechs, but sometimes the whole army. They couldn’t afford information leaks. Even when he wasn’t in the office the automatic security systems continued to run. The room was so well shielded that unless someone saw them enter the room they would never know if it was occupied or not. Even so, Jazz onlined a few other security measures to make certain no one would hear their conversation. “Ortho or someone in that room doctored that transmission,” Jazz said, leaning back against his desk, clicking his claws against the scratched metal surface.

Blaster went to the other side of the desk and sprawled out in Jazz’s chair, one leg hooked over the arm rest and his elbow on the other. “But why bother? And how’d they know to send it to Talon? We got too many loose ends here, Jazzy.”

“’Cause we don’t know all the players,” Jazz answered. “We know a lot about Talon, know a lot about Red, but what do we know about Ortho?”

Blaster thought for a second and shrugged his shoulder. “He’s not Prowl’s sire?” Jazz pointed to his workstation and Blaster straightened up and turned it on. They didn’t have all of Red Alert’s credentials, but between the two of them there weren’t many systems they couldn’t hack.

Jazz sat on the desk and crossed his legs while Blaster broke through public and private database firewalls like they were aluminum. “Ortho, Ortho, Ortho,” the younger mech muttered. “What do we know? He’s on Prowl’s sparking record, so he really does claim Prowl.” Jazz wrinkled his nasal ridge and flapped his cephalic fins. Seemed to him the claiming only went one way. Takara had not been excited to see the mech. Blaster continued looking and let out a low whistle. “Business mech, big time. Has a hefty stake in Wind Carrier Enterprises.” Jazz echoed the whistle. Wind Carrier Enterprises was one of the largest shipping companies on Cybertron, the inner colonies, and was making serious headway in the outer colonies.

“How long he been in that?” Jazz asked, optics taking in the article Blaster had pulled up. It was an article from Praxus and written in Kotoba so he didn’t glean much from it except a few verbs.

“This article is from before The Fall,” Blaster said, optics flicking all over the screen as he read and opened more links and applied more filters for searches. “Frag me, I need to run this through a translator, but I’m pretty sure this thing is saying Ortho’s grandsire was one of the founding members of Wind Carrier.” He put the article through a translator as he spoke and Jazz slicked his fins back in shock.

“Primus be a glitch, that’s a _lot_ of credits,” Jazz said as he read the translated article. It wasn’t long, a spotlight piece from a gala. But the picture attached was the same severe Praxian they’d briefly spoken to.

“It’s a lot of _attention_ ,” Blaster said. “Remember what Ratch said when we found out Prowl’s records were sealed? He only saw that with high class. Look at this glitch. Imagine the headlines if it came out his spark wasn’t really his spark.”

“All those surgeries,” Jazz said softly. “Just for keeping up appearances.” A nameless grief rippled through his spark for the tiny sparkling curled up safe in the med bay with Red Alert.

Blaster shook his head slowly. “No wonder Ratchet’s glitched. I’m about to get glitchy myself. Ion’t understand High Class, Jazzy. I don’t. My creators didn’t count on me bein’ a dual-spark but they never made me feel any different. Even if other mechs had something to say about it, I knew they were there for me.”

He clicked through to a different link he’d opened, a longer article, this one from Chrysos in Simfur and written in Iax. It was another donor dinner party piece, but this one had a picture of two mechs. Ortho again and standing next to him another mech looking directly into the camera with narrowed optics. Jazz’s spark kicked and he had to blink twice to focus on the mech he was seeing. “Wow,” Blaster said, sitting back in his chair. “Guess Prowl really takes after his creator.”

“It’s that look,” Jazz said, a smile beginning to pull up the corner of his mouth. “We’ve seen that look at least once a septorn for the last centicycle, mah mech.” It was Prowl’s patent-pending glower that demanded both an explanation, an apology, and solicited options for punishment all at the same time. Jazz saw it most often when he ‘forgot’ rules of conduct or skipped meetings he deemed unimportant. Blaster saw it when the Twins talked him into helping with their pranks.

Blaster’s grin lit up his face. “You’re right! Primus, I’ve never seen another mech pull it off.” The mech in the picture did have a strong resemblance to Prowl not only in the glower but the set of his shoulders, the dark gold of his optics, and a faint V of gold that flared up from his optics over his optic ridges before darkening to the bronze on his temples. “I think even without Prowl bein’ a sparkling, I’d know that was one of his creators,” Blaster said.

There was something in the mech, in the unyielding glare leveled at the camera that he could also feel in Prowl. “One of a kind,” Jazz said softly. “Both of them.” And somehow Ortho had missed it. Missed it by so much that the mech staring at him through the picture had managed to spark Prowl with someone else. And he’d missed it in Prowl, opting to cut and weld and reshape a sparkling to fit his expectations instead of seeing the amazing little mech that Prowl was.

Blaster scrolled through a couple different articles. “Most of these are focused on Ortho and the mech doesn’t mention his bondmate…ever.” Rolling his optics he said, “Can’t say I’m surprised, but somehow I’m still disappointed. But you know what that means, Jazzy?” he asked with a delighted grin. “Gossip slag!” Jazz rolled his optics but didn’t stop the younger mech from diving into the archives of every trashy gossip heap Iacon had ever produced. It was _appalling_ how much a mech could learn about a stranger from the sensationalist headlines. But if looking for a High Class target, there was no better place to find odd details, habits, and candid pictures. Someone with as much power and credits as Ortho was sure to have a loyal column.

“Booooooom!” Blaster said as the articles populated the screen. “Creator’s name is Onyx, and he was popular with the gossips.”

“Bein’ wealthy does that to you,” Jazz said. There weren’t many pictures where Onyx wasn’t staring directly into the camera with the same fierce expression he’d used in the gala picture. “He come from credits, too?” Jazz asked. It wasn’t often the targets of the gossip slag looked at the camera. Once they reached a certain point it simply became part of their lives and they learned to ignore it. It didn’t look like Onyx learned to do that.

“Not as much as Ortho, but that’s not sayin’ much. I don’t even think Mirage’s family can match him,” Blaster said, doing a quick look at a financial record he probably wasn’t supposed to have access to. He closed out of it and went back to the gossip. “Arranged match,” he said, pointing to one article where Onyx wasn’t looking at the camera but off to the side with a smile on his face. “And I’d like to point out a very familiar color scheme in the background of this picture,” Blaster said pointing to another picture. The picture was a hasty snap from the bonding ceremony, but the lack of focus in the foreground meant some of the background was clearer.

“That’s a seeker,” Jazz said, leaning over Blaster and tapping a couple keys to magnify the mech. The mech had a patch on his armor too out of focus to identify but the highlights of white and gold on his otherwise black wings did have a close resemblance to Takara’s night sky wings. “But we can’t make assumptions off one blurry picture, mechling.”

“How about a clearer picture with the headline _Scandal_?” Blaster asked pulling the article up. In sharp focus, Onyx sat on the edge of a fountain, his copper and silver streaked wings trailing in the water as he looked up at the sky. The seeker standing next to him had a wing partially overlapping Onyx’s; black with scattered feathers of silver, white, and gold.

Jazz rubbed his optics. “Bold, stupid, or looking to start a fight?” he said to himself. Wing etiquette was a complicated thing, but one thing that could always be counted on was: wings don’t touch. Wings didn’t get touched without permission, period. The overlap wasn’t an oversight, but a very brazen move by the seeker.

Blaster stared at the picture a little longer before he said, “Maybe he needed it. Maybe it was worth the headline, the gossip, the fallout. Could you imagine getting saddled to a mech like Ortho for your whole life because your family wanted up another step on the ladder? We know what Prowl’s like as an adult, we’ve seen what Ortho did to him when he was a spark, why would he treat a bondmate any different.”

“You’re right, mechling,” Jazz sighed after a breem. “I start thinkin’ everything’s an op and everything needs to play into the cover. You can’t live a whole life like that. Pit, most mechs gotta get out in a couple kels. Not many can make it a vorn.” The pictures and headlines of Onyx filled the screen still with more still populating behind it. A life on full display for the entertainment of anyone with a couple extra credits. He stared at the overlapping with picture again, of Onyx looking at the sky and the seeker’s wing resting against his. Jazz copied the picture on impulse.

“Onyx’s family started the Arts Conservation Program,” Blaster exclaimed, pulling Jazz out of his introspective state. Jazz’s cephalic fins flipped up in interest. The ACP had been important before the war in helping preserve a lot of cultural artifacts and practices. Now, it was the holder of their culture. The moved everything from paintings to statues, to even burial sites to safe unknown locations throughout Cybertron and—according to some strong rumors—as far as off world. While the rest of them were busy tearing themselves apart, the ACP was doing everything it could to keep safe everything that made them a unique People and not a bunch of war machines.

“Prowl loves art and history,” Jazz said softly. No matter how far out they were or where they were going, he always made sure Sunstreaker and Mirage had art supplies and there were always a few extra things around the common areas that mechs could grab. Jazz was sworn to absolute secrecy on threat of deactivation, but he’d caught Ratchet sitting in the office once night with Wheeljack and Percy while the three of them sipped high grade and colored sparkling coloring pages.

“One pit of a legacy,” Blaster said. “You think Prowl is involved with them?” he asked looking up at Jazz.

“I haven’t thought about the ACP in ages, but mech, I’d bet my fins Prowl’s doin’ something to help them. Much as he gets on the crew and new recruits about finding hobbies that got nothin’ to do with this pit-cursed war, often as he let’s those ‘unsanctioned’ parties go on ‘til morning? He does everything he can for this crew to help us remember we’re more than guns and knives.”

Blaster smiled happily. “That’s what I was thinkin’, too. Think he’ll let us help after we get him back?”

“We’ll have to prove we’re actually responsible and not just failing up,” Jazz said with a laugh.

“Then you better get next septorn’s shift schedule done,” came the cheeky response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to end this convergence of bullshit known collectively as "2020" on a high note.   
> Thank you everyone who's still reading, I know I set out with high hopes of having this done in only a couple months since it's a rewrite. I hope everyone has a safe NYE and a brighter 2021. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and for all the kudos


	9. Breach!

Jazz was deep in the best recharge of his life when an explosion shook through the decks. Snapping online from long practice, he was only disoriented for a moment when he didn’t feel water or hear a splash.

He was still in his quarters, just on the uncomfortable dry berth and not his washrack.

Takara also woke up with a fearful squeak and tried to burrow deeper into the covers. Jazz dove into the comms looking for information on the explosion as security, medical, and fire teams tried to pinpoint what happened. It was becoming second nature to reach out through his bond with the sparkling and calm him. Takara squeaked again but without terror redlining his spark pulse. No other explosions followed the first and if not for the chaos in Jazz’s comms nothing would seem amiss.

 _All science officers accounted for_ Ratchet said, taking the biggest stressor away. Wheeljack hadn’t blown himself up, but someone else was definitely having a bad orn. 

_Brig breach, smokescreen deployed, thermal rebooting_ Searchlight said, his words blending with the end of Ratchet’s sentence. Jazz was up and two steps away from the door when Takara whimpered, acidic fear coiling through their bond. Jazz’s coding stopped him like he’d hit a wall. “It’s okay, Prowl. You’re safe here,” he said, returning to the berth.

 _Searchlight, what’s goin’ on?_ Jazz snapped over the comm link.

 _Cosmos is picking up a light transport near the hull, no insignia,_ the young security mech answered with clipped words.

Frightened gold optics looked out from the dark nest of blankets. He couldn’t leave Prowl alone in a quiet joor, leaving him now was out of the question. _I’m detained with a scared spark_ he told the other officers.

 _Takara is priority, we don’t know who’s in the brig or what they want_ Optimus said decisively. Jazz kept his comms on and activated an additional security net in the room. He still had two knives on him as he always did and a blaster was fit snug under the berth within easy reach. “It’s all right, Prowl,” Jazz said, sitting down again and picking up the bundle of sparkling and blankets. “I won’t let anything get you.”

 _Unknown if the three are still in cells, backup security is picking up faint spark pulses, but dampeners are being employed. Thermal is cycling through reboot, should be up in three seconds._ Searchlight didn’t sound annoyed or angry; he could have been giving a weather report for all the inflection he had. It was a nice contrast to the paint peeling cursing Ironhide was employing on the officer channel. Jazz added his own colorful language. The brig wasn’t an easy place to breach, if it was the source of the explosion then Jazz would bet his fins the three were gone. Talon had pulled his ace.

The glitch had backup.

 _Thermal is back to normal function, no heat signatures in brig. Smokescreen is beginning to dissipate._ A hint of annoyance on the last word, and Jazz huffed a quiet laugh. The smoke not clearing out immediately sounded like something Red Alert would be annoyed with, too. Takara poked his head out of the blankets and looked around the quiet room, still suspicious from the echoes of stress in Jazz’s spark, but confused since the room was quiet and normal.

 _Well coordinated,_ Jazz said, loosening his arms so Takara could climb out of the blankets and drop down to the floor to do a thorough search of the room. _Did they scramble the hull cameras or can we establish a timeline?_

 _Streetwise is checking through codes now, it appears an echo was looped in._ There, the barest hint of frustration crept into Searchlight’s unflappable calm. Jazz winced. It was something Red Alert would have been on the lookout for and something Jazz probably should have thought about with Talon’s oddly defiant behavior. But he hadn’t thought about it because he was on _The Ark_ and he’d fallen into the habit of trusting all security to Red Alert and his mechs. Jazz’s security paranoia was reserved mostly for the field. On ship, he didn’t have to worry about things because he knew Red Alert was worrying about it.

 _Send me a sample of the code, I’ll run it against my database and see if anything comes up_ , he said. Searchlight sent back an affirmative ping.

 _The transport is gone, verifying all security locks and codes and checking for additional breaches_ Streetwise said, a hum of anger under every word. Jazz rubbed his optics and flapped his cephalic fins a couple times to shake off the stress. He would have to make time to talk to Streetwise and all the others on the security team. Everyone lost a target eventually. Sometimes it was from young mistakes and sometimes it was just one of those things. This was a hard blow to the security team and he’d make sure they didn’t break themselves down but find a way to make sure it didn’t happen again.

Takara finished his circuit around the room and blinked up at Jazz, still confused but less suspicious since everything was normal for him. “Maybe when this is all over, Wheeljack can send me on vacation as a sparkling, Prowler.” He started laughing as soon as the words were out trying to imagine how Prowl and Red Alert would handle him. “I think you’d just put me in the brig with a little pool an’ call it an orn,” he said scooping up the sparkling and tickling his sides.

 _Once security verification is complete, you’re clear to bring Takara to med bay_ Ratchet said. Ratchet had his own security measures in place in case of breach that turned the med bay into a fortress. Given its proximity to the hangar—the most likely place for large team breaches—Ratchet left nothing to chance. His medics were a well-trained unit and even if _The Ark_ itself was lost, any mech or femme in the med bay had a good chance of making it out. And since Ratchet was twitchy about things like stealth agents, especially when officers were laid up, the med bay was the single safest place for Takara to be in the whole star system.

Inferno and his second, Kerosene, were doing fire checks on wiring and structural integrity in the hall while security mechs were staggered throughout hardlined into terminals, optics flashing. At the end of the hall the Prime’s towering frame was standing arms akimbo with Ironhide next to him.

Takara was less than thrilled about seeing Ratchet again but was settled in next to Red Alert and content to watch the medic with gentle waves of suspicion and annoyance pulsing through their bond. Jazz did his best to keep the sparkling from hissing at the medic, but Prowl was sparked a stubborn aft.

Jazz walked into the processing section of the brig. The actual cells were sealed off by heavy decompression doors. The gaping hole showing distant glittering white stars and closer stars burning orange and yellow was big enough for Ironhide to walk through. “Edges are melted,” he said in greeting, narrowing his optics and cuing up magnification. “Most likely incendiary wire not an actual explosion. Decompression is what caused the bang.”

“Not ‘Cons.” Ironhide’s cannons hummed and the glower fixed on his face could peel paint. “No reason for them to bust in and not start a firefight.”

Optimus rubbed his forehead. “Has Streetwise gotten back to you?”

“He’s making a timeline right now based on security footage, should have it in another breem,” Ironhide grumbled.

Jazz stared at the shape of the hole with a critical optic and looked over the cells. “Incendiary wire takes time to set up,” Jazz said still examining the hole. “A hole that big they would’a needed at least ten breems to get set up.” He frowned more as he looked at the size of the hole. He used incendiary wire for getting out of bases and compounds on occasion because it was a lot quieter than regular explosives and—depending on the building material—more expedient than a hack. “But why make the hole so big?” None of the detained bots in the cells were as big as Ironhide and incendiary wire worked best at making small holes, which is why it worked well for Jazz, he could squeeze through some tight spaces. “Waste of time, waste of wire.”

“Scuffs and dents on the floor,” Ironhide grouched, nodding to the wall opposite the cells. “Cyber already matched the pattern to an older version of a breacher.” He glanced at one of the younger security femmes behind them hardlined into a terminal, optics flashing and an angry scowl on her face. The situation was still bad, but Jazz didn’t stop the small flicker of pride that flared in his spark. The security team was doing Red Alert proud. They were young and they’d missed some things, but if they had been any of Jazz’s young field mechs he would be buying them a round as soon as they reached a safe house.

Back to business he said, “Incendiary wire to get in and a breacher to trash the locks…” the plan was straightforward. A smash and grab. Incendiary wire got them in quick enough they could deploy the smokescreen and the massive decompression would have reset some of the security systems—such as thermal—and that would give them time to set the breacher up and get the three out. “Two teams,” he said after a breem. “One for breaching the hull and dealing with security, one to set up the breacher and get the three out. Four or five mechs in total depending on the weight of the breacher and familiarity with it.”

“Precise,” Optimus said. “Very precise.”

“They didn’t come in expecting regular security locks, didn’t even bother bringing more explosives because they knew it’d take too long. They know military security. Could be ex-military, could be terrorists.” Ironhide recrossed his arms, “Not ‘Cons, though. None of them read like deep cover.” He glanced at Jazz and Jazz nodded.

“Hired alloy. And not the variety the ‘Cons usually go for. Talon, maybe, but Ash asks too many questions and Primus help the little medic, she’s more of a liability with her glitch than an asset, especially now that it’s out there.” Jazz paced slowly in front of the doors optics still on the hole but processor in a dozen different places. “One or all of them know something,” Jazz said as he paced. “Something whoever hired them wants to know, otherwise, all three are a liability and it would’a been easier to toss poison gas in instead of a smokescreen and tidied up all the loose ends.” Optimus winced a little but didn’t argue.

“Cold,” Ironhide rumbled without the anger he’d had before.

“Efficient,” Jazz countered with the same ruthless cold he used to tie up his own loose ends. “Talon can be brought back into the fold because he hates Red Alert and doesn’t do a lot of thinking. But Ash and Morning Star are liabilities now. Ash will be asking more questions and without whatever tranqs the medic was pilfering her glitch is going to start spiraling.” Jazz looked at the hole again and cocked his head to the side. “Since we didn’t have thermal for the initial breach, we don’t know for sure that all three got on that transport.”

Optimus and Ironhide both stiffened and Cyber shot him a startled look before looking at the hole and frowning. He optics flashed, but whatever message she sent wasn’t sent on a channel Jazz had open. Ironhide, for all his bluster, was the first to relax his posture and rub his face, cannons powering down. “That’s colder than Kaon, Jazz.”

Jazz thawed a little. Ironhide was a bruiser, through and through and got as much fun out of a good firefight as the Twins did out of a good prank. But the big mech would throw his cannons into a sun before even considering leaving a mech behind. “We won’t know for sure until we can find that transport, ‘Hide. But mechs who hire guns expect the guns to function and shoot when told. The guns that start asking questions or misfiring get scrapped.”

“The other option is radicals,” Optimus murmured, fingers tapping slowly on his arm. “None of them seemed like the type to fall in with fringe groups. Kup is going through their most recent psych evals to make sure. The fact stands, though, that someone fed them a false story about a stolen sparkling with very little evidence and they all believed it.” His face became more troubled. “If that brief recording and flimsy timeline they gave Talon was enough to convince them to attack Red Alert directly, there was already something there.”

Jazz and Ironhide nodded. “I haven’t heard any significant rumors,” Jazz said, “but I’ll tell my team to keep their audios to the ground.” Talon already hated Red Alert for personal reasons so him buying the story with little to no evidence wasn’t too much of a surprise, but the femme, Ash, stuck in his processor. She also hadn’t started asking questions until they were in hot water, but she’d believed the story enough to follow through on the attack and rope in Morning Star. There was something ugly brewing somewhere and Jazz needed to find it.

“We got to find that rusted transport,” Ironhide growled, some of his fire coming back. “Nondescript hull that won’t stand out in port, no insignia, I.D. numbers removed and scrubbed from the loop code they used in the security feed. It was just as thorough and straightforward as the breach.”

“Firewall can find them,” Cyber said, surprising all three officers. The femme stood in front of three of the highest ranking Autobots in the army and didn’t flicker an optic. Jazz had to get the details on where Red Alert found these young recruits. “He got in contact with Wheeljack when we discovered there were no traditional means of tracking the ship and managed to capture its unique engine resonance. According to Wheeljack, any ship outfitted with slipspace drives has a unique resonance, like a spark pulse, that it uses to thread through space. It’s why we never have slipspace collisions, every ship is moving through it on different parallel frequencies.”

Jazz felt a slow smile spread across his face, Ironhide looked like he was rebooting, and there was the unmistakable glow of pride coming off Optimus. “Well done,” the commander said. Cyber gave a sharp salute and returned to her station.

“Soon as this is over, we’re taking security out,” Jazz told Ironhide. The big mech nodded slowly still looking like a gentle breeze could knock him over.

 _Not all of what Talon said was rust_ , Jazz directed the message to only Ironhide and Optimus, mindful of the security and fire teams still in the hallway. Optimus gave Jazz his full attention and Ironhide narrowed his optics, getting himself grounded once more. _Spark bondings are on public record, easy to verify. Red Alert didn’t wake up enough to confirm, but…it’s enough_. Now Ironhide was giving him his full attention. Optimus didn’t move for a full ten seconds, didn’t even blink. _A sparkling named Titan was killed in a Decepticon raid in Red Alert’s home county,_ Jazz took a deep breath and let it out slow, reaching for Takara, making sure the spark was still—mostly—okay in the med bay. Optimus’ optics darkened to navy; weariness, sorrow, and exhaustion settling over his face. Ironhide’s optics turned cold and flinty, old joints hissing as pressure released. “I’mma bring them all in, Prime, if the other two didn’t get jettisoned,” Jazz said softly. “But I ain’t guaranteeing his spark will still be lit when I do.”

“Jazz, deactivating him will not undo the harm done,” Optimus said softly.

“No, but I’ll recharge better knowing he lost the luxury of breathin’,” Jazz activated his camouflage so he could get back to the med bay without a crowd and heard Cyber give a sharp laugh.

Jazz walked back to the med bay taking rarely used halls and avoiding mechs when he saw them. Pressure built up and released with a sinister hiss in the quiet halls. The Prime wanted Talon and the others caught, but he wanted them alive for further questioning. Which was very reasonable, there were still a lot of questions about how they’d all three been so thoroughly hoodwinked. And the Prime would be watching the names on the retrieval teams to make sure Jazz didn’t slip in someone who wouldn’t feel bad bringing in only two alive for questioning.

But that didn’t mean Talon maybe wouldn’t get a little banged up while they were bringing him in. Pulling up his XOps roster he scrolled through the names selecting a dozen and then narrowing even more until he had two he could slip into any team Optimus sent out. Optimus knew the names of his mechs, certainly, but he didn’t _know_ Jazz’s mechs and analysts he’d selected were hardly ever in the field and never on the types of missions Jazz went on. It didn’t have anything to do with ability, but that the two were a lot like Prowl and able to find patterns in chaos and construct plans that were so glitchy they were genius. They were also very direct and had no qualms about putting around through a mech’s strut if they were being difficult. And Talon seemed like a mech who liked to be difficult.

More content now that he had a plan in place to track down Talon, he took a turn that would take him directly to the med bay. Blaster was down the hall lounging against the wall with Eject perched on his shoulder. “Keepin’ tabs on me?” Jazz asked with a bite in his voice. Blaster shrugged it off with a toothy smile. Despite his role in communications and encryptions, he was vicious as any front liner when pushed.

“Red Alert’s not conscious, I’m not fragging qualified to take care of a sparkling, and do you _really_ want the twins taking care of Takara full time?” Blaster—perhaps stupidly—never kept his distance when Jazz was in a prickly mood. He put his arm around Jazz’s shoulders like he always did and though Jazz bristled at the contact he continued chattering. “Jazzmech, ya’ don’t have to stalk these halls like Megatron pulled a fast one on ya. It’s that orange glitch, the medic, and that cranky femme. We’ll find ‘em before they reach the next star.” Jazz’s plates lowered while he thought about what Blaster said.

“You heard about Firewall’s nifty tracking trick?” Jazz asked, not really surprised the main gossip hound and director of communications already knew.

“Mech, that’s the _coolest_ thing I ever heard,” he said with a happy grin. “Rub is, once they initiated their slipspace engines, we lost the resonance because in slipspace, they’re in tune or something like that.

“But we know they had to use slipspace to get where they were going,” Jazz said as they walked. “Before all this I would’a bet credits it was Ortho that supplied that transmission, but mech, Iont know. We still don’t know how Ortho could’a contacted Talon or even known that Talon had history with Red Alert.”

The escape had been a tight military extraction and the initial attack on Red Alert had been covered very well; if not for First Aid’s optic for detail they might still not have a lead. But they crew had fallen apart as soon as pressure was applied. Someone, someone very good, was cleaning up the mess those three made and Jazz was willing to bet his favorite knives that the maid was the same mech that supplied the doctored transmission. Ortho had credits but the mech didn’t seem like too much of a planner. From what they’d gleaned in their brief search the mech was self-absorbed and used to a privileged life. Not the conditions that usually bred tactical masterminds.

Except Prowl.

Jazz whistled in frustration and his fins bristled. “We need to pin down that transmission that Talon got,” he said. “We were working under the assumption it was Ortho and that Talon would give us more in interrogation, but that information source is gone so now we need to do things the hard way. We figure out where that came from, we’ll know who’s cleaning up after them.”

“Jazzmech, I am more than just a pretty face, y’know,” Blaster said airily. Jazz snapped his attention to Blaster. Blaster didn’t have fangs, but he knew how to flash his teeth like he had them when he was ready to pounce on someone. “I been combing through every glitching one of Talon’s incoming and outgoing signals looking for that ‘old war buddy’.” The smile dropped. “ _No one_ copies my fraggin’ signals. Not even Soundwave’s been able to pull that trick more’n once.” Turning down the hall for the med bay, he continued. “And I was right. The message got a quick edit, but it wasn’t _copied_.”

“Sourcecode’s the same?” Jazz said, fins flipping up in surprise. “If the sourcecode’s the same, then Talon’s message…”

“Came from the mech who received it.”

“Office,” Jazz said, abruptly changing directions and sending a reassuring pulse to Takara that he was safe with Ratchet, even if he didn’t like the medic. Takara’s only response was a disgruntled twinge that felt for all the world like one of his angry bites. Creative little glitch.

Secure in Jazz’s office once more Jazz started pacing while Blaster collapsed in the chair with his legs hooked over the arm. “Ortho, or someone who was in the room, fiddled with the transmission. That is _fact_ ,” Blaster said, ticking off one finger. “Whoever edited the transmission knew Talon and Red Alert had history. Fact. Fact number three, they knew Red Alert was a primary caretaker _or_ they thought he was the only caretaker and that’s why they wound Talon up and sent him out.”

Jazz paused in his pacing and assembled those three things in his processor. “What would have happened if Red Alert had Prowl? We never thought about that.”

“I’ll bet we wouldn’t have picked up that trio in the commissary,” Blaster said. “I would bet Red Alert would still be in bad shape, but they wouldn’t’ve messed with his spark. Why did they take the cores?”

“They were looking for Takara,” Jazz said slowly. “We already established this had nothing to do with security and everything to do with Takara. What would be imprinted on Red Alert’s spark right now?”

“Takara.” Blaster put his feet on the ground and leaned his elbows on the desk. “Y’know what I been thinkin’ about, Jazzy? The first and last time we talked to Ortho, it was Red Alert who was holding Takara. It was Red Alert who called Ortho out in front of Primus for not being Prowl’s true sire. This all circles back to Red Alert.”

“This is an op,” Jazz said, taking a step back from his personal feelings and into the cold sparked Ops mech. “They had Red Alert’s name and face. They wanted the sparkling. How fast can you compile information on Red Alert with basic search terms and that very limited information.”

Blaster gave him his fangless grin. “I timed myself at twenty breems, but I am the best of the best, so I’ll allow a margin of error of about a joor for subpar mechs.”

“That’s how they found Talon.” Jazz felt his irritation at the puzzle cooling as it began to stack together. “They probably sent a couple of feelers, little things to gauge his personal feelings about Red Alert.

“And hit a cybertronium vein when they found out he’s glitched.” Blaster sat back in the chair with his arms folded. “That’s what made this so confusing. Talon’s not a plant or a deep cover agent from cons or radicals. He was a serendipity find and this is the largest port before deep space. At some point, _every_ ship stops by.”

Jazz nodded. “Prime told Ortho we’d be docking here and gave an approximate timeline. We were two septorns out when we got in contact with Ortho. Plenty of time to compile a dossier on Red Alert and start pulling on threads. “And now with hull repairs to the brig, we’ll be delayed.”

Blaster nodded sharply. “And if Talon hadn’t already been on base here with his ship, how hard would it be to sabotage an engine or create a shipment delay until he or someone else could get here and try the same trick. You been sayin’ since we brought those three in that you haven’t heard any rumors about Autobots and sparklings. Maybe that’s because they just started.”

Jazz slicked his fins back with a sharp snap. Dangerous. Some of the fringe groups were zealots with more firepower than processor. Whipping them into frenzy could endanger not just _The Ark_ but Autobots everywhere. “If Talon hadn’t panned out—and it looks like he didn’t—all they need to do now is wind up the fanatics with the same story they fed Talon.”

“Except now they’ve got proof that there’s a sparkling on this ship and not just a rumor,” Blaster said pointedly. “Over a dozen mechs have seen Prowl now and most of ‘em got dents from you for their trouble.”

Jazz winced. They’d already doctored a transmission. It would be sparkling play to edit the security footage to make it look like Jazz went melee on soldiers trying to rescue the sparkling. “This is critical,” Jazz said softly. “We gotta get Prowl back and we need it sooner than later. Ortho has the credits to pay whoever is cleaning up the current mess, but if he starts in on the fringe groups the Autobots could be looking at a war on two fronts. One against ‘Cons and one against Shoot First, Think Later radicals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing what can get done when one isn't worried about the president sending a tweet that starts WWIII.  
> Thank you for all the comments, reviews, and Kudos! Remember: Unclench your jaw, lower your shoulders, drink water <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, reviewing, bookmarking, and kudos!


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